WHITHER EDITH WENT.
The average American Indian is not a charming object. Treacherous, bloodthirsty, cunning, he seems to need but the opportunity to show himself a monster. Much may be said in extenuation; but, there will still remain behind the hard array of facts. Was the author writing for Cheyenne, Crow, Blackfoot, Comanche or Apache readers, perhaps he might say the same of the white man, and the statement, on their limited personal knowledge, be readily accepted. In the one case it is to be hoped that the exceptions are in reality the rule, while in the other we fear they prove it.
Edith Van Payne was well acquainted with the general character of the dusky people into whose hands she had fallen. When War Hawk and his daring followers had swooped down upon her, she had, at the first shock, uttered a scream for help. In imagined security it was most sternly startling to feel herself caught up and borne off like the rush of the wind. The crack of a rifle, fired, she doubted not, by one of Martin's men, recalled her, in some measure, to herself. Yet, as she hung across the neck of the warrior's steed, and felt the firm grip of his powerful hand, she might well lapse into a state of semi-unconsciousness. When, at length, she again became fully awake to her position, a long distance had been placed between her and her late home.
When Edith found herself able to catch a confused glimpse of her abductor, she thought she recognized his face. That thought gave her some comfort at least, since it brought her a sense of relief from any present positive danger.
The relations between Martin and the red-skins who surrounded him had been heretofore those of peace. By a rare piece of good luck, at the outset, and afterward by judicious management, he had so secured their apparent good-will that he had been led to look upon them rather as allies. With some of them he had carried on considerable traffic in pelts and robes, and they came often to his ranche. Edith, with a woman's curiosity, had scanned them narrowly, and the most of them had accepted the gaze of her flashing eye in an unconcerned manner. In one or two she detected answering glances of admiration that rather amused her.
In the Indian who was now bearing her away she believed she recognized War Hawk, one of those she had classed as her admirers.
By the time that War Hawk had joined the small party that was awaiting him, Edith had settled in her mind the course which she intended to pursue. Holding herself in constant readiness to accept any opportunity to escape, she would keep up a bold front. She would not waste her strength in vain endeavors, but in the hour of action be brave and resolute.
War Hawk marked the phases of returning consciousness, bewilderment, doubt and final determination. Though he could not fully understand, he could appreciate much of the mental force which faced, in calmness, such a situation. A thrill of pride ran through him at the thought, that he had not been mistaken in the stuff of which his captive was made.
"The White Bird need not fear. War Hawk would not harm. He hopes she will some day neither fear nor wish to fly. She must not flutter now. There is danger to both, and he will not die alone."
"For myself I fear not. I am in no present haste to flutter nor fly. I remember you, sir; I know you. The years that you have passed among the whites—for I know your story—should have taught you better. And you will have to account for this, to not only the white people, but your own tribe. Be sure that both will be ready to bring you to a reckoning."