“Honest Injun?” he queried.
She had never heard that expression, so he changed it to another of like meaning.
“I wouldn’t lie,” she replied, with direct simplicity that indeed reminded Adam of an Indian.
Never had Adam prepared so good a camp dinner in such short time. And then, hungry as Genie was, she insisted that her mother should be served first. She took a lighted candle Adam gave her and led the way into the hut, while he followed, carrying food and drink that he believed best for a woman so weak and starved. The hut had two rooms, the first being a kitchen with stone floor and well furnished with camp utensils. The second room contained two rude cots made of poles and palm leaves, upon one of which Adam saw a pale shadow of a woman whose eyes verified the tragic words she had spoken.
Despite the way Adam stooped as he entered, his lofty head brushed the palm-leafed roof. Genie laughed when he bumped against a crossbeam.
“Mother, he’s the tallest man!” exclaimed the girl. “He could never live in our hut.... Now sit up, mother dear.... Doesn’t it all smell good. Oooooo! The Indian fairy has come.”
“Genie, will you hold the candle so I can see the face of this kind man?” asked the woman, when she had been propped up in bed.
The girl complied, with another little laugh. Adam had not before been subjected to a scrutiny like the one he bore then. It seemed to come from beyond this place and time.
“Sir, you are a man such as I have never seen,” she said, at length.
Plain it was to Adam that the sincerity, or whatever she saw in him, meant more to her than the precious food of which she stood in such dire need. Her hair was straggly and gray, her brow lined by pain and care, her burning eyes were sunk deep in dark hollows, and the rest of her features seemed mere pale shadows.