The trader started from his pillow of green branches, and looked at the giant hunter, whose eyes were turned toward the gloomy mouth of a corridor, almost directly opposite the main entrance to the cave.
“I didn’t hear any noise, Doc,” said Blount, still gazing at the hunter, whose right hand had noiselessly lifted his rifle from the ground. “You must have been mistaken!”
The giant did not reply, but suddenly started forward. A moment later, however, he returned, leading a young girl by the hand.
“Look here, Oll,” he cried, addressing the wounded trader, “this is what I heard a moment ago. Look at her. Snakes and lizards! ain’t she a beauty! I wonder why she came here, who she is, an’ what she wants.”
“Ask her!” said Blount. “I have never seen her face before. She’s not a Peoria.”
“Nor a Kaskaskia or a Cahokia,” replied the hunter, looking into the black eyes of the Indian beauty, who stood before them as immobile as a statue.
Her face told of immense suffering at no remote time, and her large eyes confirmed the silent story. She was richly clad for an Indian, and reminded the twain of the savage belles to be found in every aboriginal village.
“Girl,” and the hunter’s arm, which had dropped to his side, touched her faultless hand. “Girl, tell the pale-faces who you are.”
A deathlike silence filled the cave after Doc Bell’s words, for the red beauty spoke not. Her eyes were riveted upon the hunter’s face, and not until he had addressed her again did she make motion or sign.
Then she shook her head, and put her fingers to her lips.