Off there, just visible
in the gray mist of early sunshine, was the mountain where she had found
Tara five years ago--a tiny cub who must have lost his mother. Perhaps
the Indians had killed her. And that long, rock-strewn slide, so steep
in places that he shuddered when he thought of what she had done, was
where she and Tara had climbed over the range in their flight. She
chose the rocks so that Tara would leave no trail. He regarded that
slide as conclusive evidence of the very definite resolution that must
have inspired her. A fit of girlish temper would not have taken her up
that rock slide, and in the night. He thought it time to speak of what
was weighing upon his mind.
"Listen to me, Marge," he said, pointing toward the red mountain ahead
of them. "Off there, you say, is the Nest. What are we going to do when
we arrive there?"
The little lines gathered between her eyes again as she looked at him.
"Why--tell them," she said.
"Tell them what?"
"That you've come for me, and that we're going away, _Sakewawin_."
"And if they object? If Brokaw and Hauck say you cannot go?"
"We'll go anyway, _Sakewawin_."
"That's a pretty name you've given me," he mused, thinking of something
else. "I like it.
Pages:
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276