I saw that I did not
understand him, after all.
Having bound us, our captors raised a shout and shouldered us toward
the camp. A young brave capered before us, beating his breast and
singing. The braves by the fire took up the cry.
And so we were pushed into the circle of flaming light. The Indians
crowded to us, and pressed their oily, grinning faces so near that I
felt their breath. I stumbled over refuse, and dirt-crusted dogs
blocked my way. The mangled carcass of a deer lay on the ground, and
the stench of fresh blood mingled with the reek of the camp. Yet I saw
only one thing clearly. In the midst of it stood the woman and Singing
Arrow.
My relief caught at my throat, and the cry I gave was hoarse and
strangled. But the woman heard it. My first look had shown me not
only that she was unharmed, but that she was undaunted, that she stood
white-faced in all the grime, and held herself above it, a thing of
spirit that soil could not reach. Yet when she saw me, the cry that
came from her in answer changed her from an effigy to something so warm
and living that I forgot where I stood, and stopped my breath to hold
her gaze to mine, and drink the moment to the full. We stood with
captivity between us and torture at our elbow, but the woman looked
only at me, and her lips grew red and tremulous, and her breath came
fast.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278