Stumbling, jerked this way and that, one white shoulder gleaming
against the brown stain of throat and face where the doeskin garment
was pulled awry, she came into the central space before the great fire.
Every inch an Indian woman she looked, with the no-wak-wa berries
darkening her bright cheeks, her moccasins and beaded garment belted
with wampum got from the Indians by Henri, save for one thing, no
Indian woman in all the wilderness wrapped her braids around her head
and pinned them with whittled pegs. There alone had she blundered.
As the renegades loosed her and dropped away, leaving her alone in the
appalling light, for one instant she flung her hands over her face.
The quick disaster stunned her.
There was no longer hope within her for the moment. But, with the rise
of the roar of triumph, that part of her nature which joyed in the
facing of odds snatched down her hands, lifted her head, and set the
old fires sparkling in her eyes.
"White! White! White!" was the cry lifting on all sides. "A white woman
of the Settlements! Wis-kend-jac has sent the White Doe! A sign! A
sign! The Great Spirit would know the slayer of Negansahima!"
"The White Doe shall choose!"
CHAPTER XXIII THE PAINTED POST
When McElroy's eyes fell upon the woman he loved the breath was stopped
in his throat.
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