For a moment it seemed he would suffocate with the surge
of emotions that choked him. Then a great sigh filled his lungs and a
cry was forced from him which pierced the uproar like an arrow.
"Maren!" he cried, in anguish; "Maren!"
It drew her eyes as the pole the faithful needle, and across the fire
they stared wide-eyed at each other.
Then De Courtenay's silver voice cut them apart.
"Again, Ma'amselle!" he cried, with the old magic of his smile. "Do you
bring by any chance a red flower to the council of the Nakonkirhirinons?"
But the Indians closed in around her, pulling and plucking at her with
eager fingers, and they saw her fighting among them like a man.
McElroy for the first time loosed his tongue in blasphemy and cursed
like a madman, tugging at the bonds which held him.
"'Tis all in a day's march, M'sieu," said De Courtenay, "and the sweet
spirit of Ma'amselle is like to cross the Styx with us."
But for the first time, also, there was in his tone a note of
weariness, a breath of sadness that sang under the light words with
infinite pathos.
The new attraction drew the crowd, and the old ones were left in
solitude, while the Nakonkirhirinons surged and scrambled for a look at
the white woman fallen from a clear sky, leagues from where they had
seen her.
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