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He opened and closed his fingers of both hands four times, meaning that the hostile post consisted of five Germans and forty native troops. "They saw you?" asked the subaltern. "Dem no look," replied the sergeant. "Too much busy make eat." "How far away?" "One tousand yards, sah," declared Bela Moshi.
They could now make out three figures in it, one steering, each of the other two wielding an oar. The lake was glorious in the strong sunshine. All the little ripples to the east were tipped with gold. Five minutes passed, while obstinacy contended silently with obstinacy. Bela sat looking at nothing with all the stoicism of her red ancestors; Sam maintained his futile pretence of business.
In an hour she was back, bringing Mary, Bateese Otter's widow. Mary, according to the standards of the settlement, was a paragon of virtue. Gilbert Beattie grinned. "Here is Mary Otter," said Bela calmly. "She poor. She goin' live with me. I guess she is respectable. She live in the mission before, and scrub the floors. Père Lacombe tell her come live wit' me. Is that all right?"
His lofty brow, Wolf said, he had inherited from his father, and his mind was certainly bright; but what could be predicted with any certainty concerning the intellectual powers of a boy scarcely seven years old? The pastor Bautista Bela was training him to piety.
"Ah, good evening, Bélá; good evening, Bélá!" screeched our friend Kecskerey, while Abellino was still some distance off; he did not move from his place, but sat there with his arms embracing his legs like the two of clubs as it is painted on old Hungarian cards. Abellino went towards Kecskerey.
She was not going to tell him the real reason she could not land. "I lose my boat," she muttered. "Better lose the boat than lose yourself," he muttered sullenly. Bela did not answer this. She paddled doggedly, and Sam bailed. He saw her glance from time to time toward a certain point inland.
For a moment she stood still, blinking in the glare, her hands, which trembled a little from the emotion of the past little scene, fumbled with her parasol. Béla turned like a snarling beast upon his fiancée. "Ask her to stop," he cried savagely. "Ask her to stop, I tell you!" "Keep your temper, my good Béla," said Klara over her shoulder to him, with a laugh; "and don't trouble about me.
"You know," he said roughly, "how I hate you to mix with that rowdy lot like you do; and you know that I look on the csárdás as indecent and vulgar. Why do you do it?" "The rowdy lot, as you call them, Béla," she replied firmly, "are my friends, and the csárdás is a dance which all true Magyars dance from childhood." "I don't choose to allow my wife to dance it," he retorted.
Klara had stayed very ostentatiously to the last, just as if she were the most intimate friend or an actual member of the family; she had stood beside Béla during the general exodus, her small, dark head, crowned with the gorgeous picture hat, held a little on one side, her two gloved hands resting upon the handle of her parasol, her foot in its dainty shoe impatiently tapping the ground.
Now, after two days' pursuit they would scarcely be more humane than then. The thought of that beautiful creature being delivered over to them was more than he could bear. "Bela for God's sake don't be a fool!" he faltered. A subtle smile appeared on her lips. She was silent. His pride made another effort. "Ah, you're only bluffing!" he said harshly. "You can't get me going that way."
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