SI-WASH CHUCKLES
It was Si-wash who first witnessed the approach of the newcomer; and he at once realized that it was not the return of his friend, Leo, the man whom he still liked, in spite of the madness which he believed now possessed him.
So he watched thoughtfully from the shadow of the fringe of the forest. He peered out over the white plain upon which an ineffective sun poured its steely rays, while he studied the details of figure and gait, which, in a country where contact with his fellows was limited, were not likely to leave him in doubt for long.
Presently he vanished within the woods. He went to convey his news to the waiting woman, the woman whose heart was full of a dread she could not shake off, whose love was silently calling, calling for the return of the man who was her whole world.
But his news must be told in his own way, a way which, perhaps, only an Indian, and those whose lives are spent among Indians, can understand.
He came to the fire and sat down, squatting upon his haunches, and remained silent for some minutes. Then he picked up a red-hot cinder and lit his black clay pipe, which he produced from somewhere amidst the furs which encased his squat body.
"We go bimeby," he said, after a long pause. "No storm—no snow. Him very fine. Good."
Audie's brooding eyes lifted from the fire to the Indian's broad face. All her fear, all her trouble was shining in their depths. The man saw and understood. But he did not comment.
"We can't go—yet," she said. "We must wait. Leo will come back. Oh, I'm sure he'll come back."
The Indian puffed at his pipe, and finally spat a hissing stream into the fire.