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Updated: June 16, 2025
While they were still engaged in explanation, a low wail from Softswan turned their attention to the corner where the preacher lay. The prairie chief glided to the side of his old friend, and kneeled by the couch. The others clustered round in solemn silence. They guessed too surely what had drawn forth the girl's wail.
"Nay, then," he continued, with a faint smile, as he released his hold; "it can come to no harm in thy keeping, child. For an instant I thought that rougher hands had seized it. But why remove it?" Softswan explained, but, seeing how eager the man was to keep it, she at once returned the little Bible to the inner pocket in which it was carried when not in use.
"Daddy," remonstrated Big Tim, "is not Softswan sittin' there at his marcy?" "No, lad, no. We are at the marcy of the Lord, an' His marcies are everlastin'." A faint smile flickered on the lips of the missionary at that moment, and, opening his eyes, he said solemnly "My son, hope thou in God, for thou shalt yet praise Him who is the health of thy countenance and thy God."
Naturally the attention of Softswan had been somewhat distracted by the foregoing conversation, and she had allowed the Indians to burst from the thicket and rush up the track a few paces before she was able to bring the big-bore gun to bear on them. "Slay them not, Softswan," cried the preacher anxiously, as he tried to rise and prevent her firing. "We cannot escape them." He was too late.
"Bot Softswan larn him easy." "Bot Softswan have one pale-fass hubsind," replied the girl, breaking into one of her old merry laughs at the trouble they both experienced in communicating through such a "lunguish." "Would the skipping one," said Eaglenose, with a sharp look, "like to have a hubsind?"
Yes, that mummified old mother, that "dear old one," was a sort of planet round which Brighteyes and Softswan and Moonlight and Skipping Rabbit and others, with a host of little Brighteyes and little Softswans, revolved, forming a grand constellation, which the men of the settlement gazed at and followed as the mariners of old followed the Pole star.
The stupendous hissing and noise, however, had the effect of momentarily arresting the savages, and inducing each man to seek the shelter of the nearest shrub. "Com queek," cried Softswan, seizing the preacher's hand. "You be deaded soon if you not com queek." Feeling the full force of this remark, the wounded man, exerting all his strength, arose, and suffered himself to be led into the hut.
Softswan did not move, but continued silently to stir the soup in the pot on the fire. Presently many footsteps were heard outside, and the sound of men conversing in low tones. Another moment, and a handsome middle-aged Indian stood in the doorway. With an expression of profound sorrow, he gazed for one moment at the wounded man; then, striding forward, knelt beside him and grasped his hand.
About the same time Brighteyes and Softswan, naturally desiring to become more interesting to their husbands, also joined this class, and they were speedily followed by Moonlight and Bounding Bull. Rushing River also looked in, now and then, in a patronising sort of way, but Whitewing resolutely refused to be troubled with anything when in camp save his mother and his mother-tongue.
Rushing River knew that leader to be one of the fiercest and most cruel of his tribe. Softswan was seated at the feet of the missionary, with her face bowed upon her knees. She was not bound, but a savage stood near to watch her. Whitewing's old mother sat or rather crouched, close to her. What had already passed Rushing River of course could only guess.
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