She looked up at the young Ottawa, as if she doubted the authenticity of the note.
Major Rudolph Runnion in trouble?
Scarce five hours before he had left the Post, in merry spirits, and while he walked away she heard him singing a gleeful love song, which he had learned from her lips.
“Why does the white girl’s eyes pierce Omatla?” asked the Indian boy. “Does she think that he has carried a forked letter to her?”
She met his interrogatives with another.
“Where is the scarlet soldier?”
“Down beneath the big cottonwood.”
“Is he ill?”
“He is wild in his head,” said the young Indian, touching his forehead. “He walks up and down the river, beneath the leaves of the big tree, shuts and opens his hands, and mutters words that Omatla could not understand. Does he want the white girl to come to him?”
“Yes.”