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She never had any chance, and you can never know how hard she tried to keep my spirits up; how ready she was to stand between me and harm me, who has had every chance! And to end like that! And yet it was far worse to live like that. It's best as it is, but God must be very good to her to make up for what she lost. Tell me, Basdel, did she suffer much when she died?"
"Then we will hide the canoe and strike across the bend. A few creeks to cross, and inside of two days we should reach the Big Sandy. It's about thirty-five miles and there is the blaze left by the surveyors. Do you wish that? It will be harder for your feet than riding in the canoe. It may be easier on your nerves." "Anything, Basdel, to get away from the river! And can't we start now?
"I did not need it. I always take it off at night It makes me too warm." "You lie most beautifully, Basdel." "How is the arm this morning?" "Much better. But you must be more honest with me. You must not lie any more." "You're making a mountain out of a hunting-shirt. It is too warm to wear at night in this mild weather." "You're hopeless. Of course it is not too warm in the warm sunshine."
The howling of the wolves, and the scream of a panther, leaping to make a kill, passed unheard. Suddenly she declared: "You were right, Basdel." "About what, Patsy?" "About my not fitting in west of the mountains." "That was said before you were tried. No woman, even border-born, could be more brave than you have been." "And I was so woefully wrong when I made fun of your long rifle.
I was dismissed and on reaching the open air I discovered I had left all my apathy behind me. The importance of time and the imperative need of immediate action was burned into my brain by Black Hoof's words. I sought Patricia and found her seated on the bank, staring into the sluggish waters. "I was thinking of you, Basdel," she greeted, and she reached her hand to me.
Isn't there something moving in the bushes?" And she clutched my arm. "Only the wind ruffling the tops," I soothed. She was silent for a few minutes and then confessed: "I dread and hate the river, Basdel. I wish we could get out of sight of it." "It's a short trip in the canoe to the Big Sandy." "And with the possibility of an Indian hiding behind every stump and log along the shore!"
I demanded. She nodded her head. "Then why haven't you tried to make the settlement? It is near. Listen. Shelby Cousin is here. The Indians can't afford the time it will take to capture the place. Walk along into the woods. Go due east. By God's grace I believe you can make it!" "Basdel, you forget," she sorrowfully reproached. "You forget my father is here. That is why they give me my freedom."
"Or we will both die," she whispered. "That wouldn't be bad. To die and be out of it all But I mustn't speak for you, Basdel." "You speak for both of us," I comforted. "Death isn't terrible. This is." And I swept my hand in a half-circle at the Shawnee wigwams forming the village. "Say nothing to Cousin's sister. I will make my plans at once. A gun, some powder and lead, and then we will go."
That you were caught Basdel, I pray my last thought will be about your goodness to me. Just that." She was at the limit of her endurance and I backed away and Cousin's sister glided forward. I flogged my mind for a scheme of escape which would include her; her father, if possible. But it was as she had said; she was no pioneer woman, resourceful and daring.
When I finished my brief recital she made a funny little grimace, too whimsical to disturb me, and we both laughed. Then quite seriously she reminded me: "But, Basdel, your last words were that you were to make a man of yourself." In this one sentence she tagged my forest work as being valueless.
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