CHAPTER XI
THROUGH THE EYES OF A WOMAN
An-ina smoothed her brown hand over the superfine surface of the spread of buckskin where it lay on the counter in the store. Her dark eyes were critically contemplating it, while she held ready a large pair of scissors.
A great contentment pervaded her life. It was in her wide, wise eyes now as she considered the piece of material which was to provide a shirt for Steve. The buckskin had been prepared by her own hands. It was soft, and tawny with the perfect tint she desired. It could not be too soft, or too good for Steve. That was her thought as she prepared to hew it into shape for the sewing and beading which no other hands would be permitted to work.
Her contemplation was broken by the abrupt flinging open of the door of the store. She turned quickly, expectantly, and the smiling content in her eyes, as they rested on the figure of Steve, left no doubt as to the welcome nature of the interruption.
"You mak your plan?" she demanded.
The manner of her question was that of poignant interest. Her whole thought was centred on the life and well-being of this white man. For the moment the buckskin was forgotten.
Steve closed the door. He came over to the counter behind which were piled the stores of his trade. He leant against it, and his steady eyes regarded the handsome, dusky woman, who had come to him at the moment of his life's disaster, and had been his strong comfort and support ever since.
"Yes." He nodded, in the decided fashion that was always his. "We can't wait."
"You go—before Marcel come?"