In spite of her protests, he drew the blood until no more came, then bathed the wound with water from the lake, and bandaged it with a clean handkerchief he happened to have in his pocket. Afterward, lover-like, he kissed the fair, smooth arm from shoulder to wrist, with an exquisite sense of possession.
"What are we going to do?" asked Beatrice, after a little.
"We can do nothing until night. Then I'll cover you with sand--all but your head, and go back to the waggons for food and ammunition. I'll get another horse, too, if I can find one, and then we'll go to Fort Wayne."
"You'll ride this one, and I'll lead him. I'll get your saddle if I can."
"Yes, we will--I'm sure of it. Life means too much to us, darling, to give it up without a fight."
The deep crimson dyed her white face. "I--I had to tell you," she whispered, "or you never would have known."
A long shadow appeared upon the sand, and Robert saw the unmistakable outlines of a feather head-dress. Beatrice was nestled in his arms, with her face against his breast. His pistol was at his belt, loaded, and his sword lay near him. "Is your pistol loaded, dear?" he asked, very softly.
She started away from him in terror. "Yes," she cried; "but why?"
"Hush!" He pointed to the shadow on the sand, which stealthily approached.
Robert rose to his feet and went noiselessly toward the southern side of the sand hill. Beatrice stood just behind him, white as death. Then Black Partridge appeared before them, with something very like a smile upon his face. "How!" he grunted cordially.
The conversation which followed was a veritable "confusion of tongues." Robert knew about as much of the Indian language as the other did of English; but, after some little time, he was made to understand that they were British prisoners, and that, for the present, they were safe.
"Ask him about Aunt Eleanor and the others," said Beatrice.
There was another long colloquy. "They are all safe," Robert explained, finally; "the White Father and his wife, the other White Father and his fair-skinned wife, and the family of Shaw-nee-aw-kee. They have been anxious about us, and when he goes back he will tell them that we are all right."
By signs and broken speech Black Partridge made it evident that they could not stay where they were, and ordered them to follow him. Robert demurred, but the chief frowned upon him so fiercely that he dared not disobey. From a voluble speech in the Indian tongue, Robert gathered that Black Partridge had not forgotten his promise--that the memory of the picture was still warm in his heart, and that he was the faithful friend of the paleface and her lover.