Singing Arrow was worth two men. She
paddled for us, cooked for us, and packed the bales when our hands
blundered with weariness. She was tireless.
And watching her I saw something lived before me day by day that I had
tried to forget was in the world. There was love between this Indian
woman and my peasant Pierre. They had found the real love, the love
that is wine and meat. It was very strange. Pierre was quiet, and he
was wont to be boisterous, but he looked into the girl's eyes, and I
saw that both of them forgot that the hours of work were long. I have
not seen this miracle many times, though I have seen many marriages.
What had Pierre done that he should find it?
Well, the west called me. And if a man whines under his luck, that
proves that he deserves all that has happened.
And so we reached the Pottawatamie Islands.
We were so cramped and exhausted that we staggered as we tried to walk
from the canoe, yet we remained at the islands but an hour. And in
that hour I talked to Onanguisse and the old men, and perfected our
plans. When we embarked again we had two large canoes with
strong-armed Pottawatamies at the paddles. We were on our way to the
Malhominis, and I slept most of the distance, for nature was in revolt.
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