Presently he nodded also, and put his knife on
the stone. She kept turning steadily, singing to herself the while, as
with anxiety she saw the Indians drawing closer and closer in from the
gate. Faster and faster she turned, and at last the Indian lifted his
knife from the stone. She reached out her hand with simulated interest,
felt the edge with her thumb, the Indian looking darkly at her the while.
Presently, after feeling the edge himself, he bent over the stone again,
and she went on turning the wheel still singing softly. At last he
stopped again and felt the edge. With a smile which showed her fine white
teeth, she said, "Is that for me?" making a significant sign across her
throat at the same time.
The old Indian looked at her grimly, then slowly shook his head in
negation.
"I go hunt Yellow Hawk to-night," he said. "I go fight; I like marry you
when I come back. How!" he said and turned away towards the gate.
Some of his braves held back, the blackness of death in their looks. He
saw. "My knife is sharp," he said. "The woman is brave. She shall
live--go and fight Yellow Hawk, or starve and die."
Divining their misery, their hunger, and the savage thought that had come
to them, Sally had whispered to the factor's wife to bring food, and the
woman now came running out with two baskets full, and returned for more.
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