"I promise," I said.
He held out his hand. "Say that again with your hand in mine. Promise
me that, whatever disaster I bring you, you will remember that I came
against my will."
Somehow that sobered me. "I promise," I repeated, and touching his
hand, and again bidding him be on the watch, I went away.
I had no plans. My mind was cloudy as muddy water, and I sauntered
around the camp looking important and weighty with calculation, but
feeling resourceless and slow. Then I bethought me of Singing Arrow.
I shouldered my way to her lodge with speed that made me a target for
scantily hidden laughter. But I could not find her. Lodge and fire
were alike deserted. I asked questions, but was met by shrugs. My
eagerness had been unwise. I had sought too openly and brusquely, and
the Ottawas suspected my zeal of being official rather than personal.
I saw myself in their eyes as an officer of the law, and knew that I
had closed one door in my own face. I told myself contemptuously that
I had made so many blunders in that one day that I must, by this time,
have exhausted the list, and that I would soon stumble on the right
road as the only one left.
And so it proved. For I went to my canoes, and there, perched
bird-wise on my cargo, and flinging jests and laughter at Pierre and
the men, sat Singing Arrow.
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