"Eat, eh?" she queried. "Good."

Jean smiled as she took the meat in her fingers and tasted it. She was hungry, and the steak was tender. It seemed so strange to be lying there in the wilderness, eating in such a primitive manner. She thought of her old home in Connecticut, and how carefully her mother had trained her. She remembered how when a child she had been rebuked because she had taken a piece of meat in her fingers. But it was the custom here in the wild, and she rather enjoyed it. And as she ate, the two Indians watched her with much interest. Such a novelty did she seem to them, that she could not refrain from smiling.

"Am I eating right?" she asked.

"A-ha-ha," the woman replied. "Babby all sam' Injun bimeby."

"Why do you call me baby? I am very big."

But the woman shook her head.

"White woman no beeg, no strong, no hunt, no feesh, no pack; all sam'

babby."

"Oh, I see," and Jean's eyes twinkled. "I know I cannot hunt, fish, or pack. But you will teach me, will you not?"

"A-ha-ha. Injun teach babby bimeby. Sleep now."

Jean did feel drowsy, and the bed was so soft and comfortable. For a while she watched the friendly Indians as they sat near the fire, and talked low to each other. It all seemed like a wonderful dream--the leaping flames, the dancing sparks, and the gentle sighing of the wind in the tree-tops. Her thoughts drifted away to her father and Dane.

How anxious they must be about her. But the Indians would take her home, and all would again be well. What a story she would have to tell of her capture and experience in the wilderness. How could she ever repay her rescuers for what they had done for her? She tried to think of what she might give them. But her thoughts became confused, and she drifted oft into a peaceful sleep with the problem unsettled.

Occasionally the Indians turned and watched the girl. When they saw that she was asleep, they looked at each other and smiled. Then they brought forth their blackened clay pipes, which they filled and lighted. For a time they smoked in silence and contentment. At length they began to converse softly in their own language. That they were talking about the sleeping girl was evident, for several times they glanced in her direction. Once Sam ceased in the midst of his talk, leaped to his feet, and clutched an imaginary object with both hands.

He then squatted down again, and continued his tale of the tragedy that night by the sh.o.r.e of the forest stream.

When he was through he rose to his feet, picked up his musket, and looked again at the girl. He then plunged into the night and the forest, leaving his wife to keep guard alone by the fire. The dawn of a new day was breaking when he returned and threw two snared partridges down upon the ground for his wife to prepare for breakfast. But something more important than birds had kept him abroad that night.

His face was serious, and his eyes glowed with anxiety and anger as he laid aside his gun, and spoke a few commanding words to his wife.

CHAPTER XVIII

LOYAL FRIENDS

It was broad daylight when Jean opened her eyes and looked curiously around. It was a still, frosty morning. The sun sifted down through the branches of the trees, and formed a fantastic net-work of light and shadow upon the ground. A deep silence prevailed, and as the girl looked dreamily at the lordly pines, birches, and maples, her eyes wandered far up among their overhanging branches. They reminded her of some majestic cathedral, with stately pillars and crowning arches, pictures of which she had at times seen. She remembered how her father had once told her that the forest was the original cathedral, and that along the silent woody aisles primitive people used to worship the Great Spirit. She understood now, as never before, how the designs for the first cathedral had been copied from the forest.

Lowering her eyes, they rested upon the Indian woman kneeling before the fire. It was a fascinating scene, and in keeping with the solemn grandeur of the place. There was the humble worshipper at the altar-fire, offering her devotions in a simple reverent manner. Jean smiled at this fancy, for she was certain that the idea of worship was not at all in the woman's mind. She was merely cooking the partridges her husband had brought in several hours before.

"Good morning," Jean at length accosted.

The woman turned quickly, and rose to her feet. She smiled as she stood and watched the girl lying there with her hair tossed in rich profusion over cheeks and shoulders.

"Plenty sleep, eh?" she asked.

"Yes, I have had a great sleep, and am much rested. It is very comfortable here."

"Hungry, eh?"

"Why, I believe I am," and Jean laughed. "What are you cooking?"

"Bird. Sam ketch'm. Good. Smell'm?"

"I certainly do, and it makes my mouth water."

The woman at once stooped, dipped a cup into the pot which was simmering over the coals, and handed it to Jean.

"Soup. Good," she said.

"It is good," Jean agreed after she had tasted it. "This will make me strong. You are a fine cook. What is your name?"

"Kitty."

"Kitty what?"

"Kitty Sam."

"Is that all?"

"A-ha-ha."

"But you have an Indian name, have you not?"

"Injun name long. Babby no spik Injun name."

After Jean had finished her breakfast, she felt much refreshed. She washed herself at a little brook which babbled through the forest, and arranged as well as she could her tangled hair. One little pool served as Nature's mirror, and in this she could see her face and the brooch at her throat. She again recalled the happy day it had been given to her. How long ago that seemed, and she wondered where Dane was now.

No doubt he was frantically searching for her, his heart filled with grief and fear. She must get home as soon as possible, for she knew how her father's heart must be nearly broken. She would get the Indians to take her back at once. But when she mentioned this upon her return to the lean-to, Kitty shook her head.

"No go now," she said. "Cold bimeby. Snow come. Ribber freeze."

"Will we go then?" Jean eagerly asked.

"Mebbe, Sam come back soon. Sam know."

"Where is Sam now?"

"Sam dere," and she motioned off toward the river. "Sam watch white man. Sam track'm all sam' bear. White man no see Sam."

"What white man? Isn't he dead?"

"A-ha-ha, Seth dead. More white man."

"What, are there others?"

"A-ha-ha. Bad! Ugh! Hunt babby. No find babby. White man mad."

"Will they come here?" A new fear had now come into Jean's heart. So there were other men after her! Who were they? But she had confidence in her dusky friends, and believed that they would save her.

"White man come, mebbe," the Indian replied. "No ketch Injun, no ketch babby. All gone."