The Trapper's Daughter Part 50

Still, in spite of her powerful const.i.tution and the masculine energy of her character, when she had endured the fatigue of a three months'

voyage, and the no less rude toil of several weeks' travelling through forests and over prairies, sleeping in the open air, her health had gradually broken down, her strength was worn out in this daily and hourly struggle, and wounded, both physically and morally, she had been at length forced to confess herself beaten, and to allow that she was too weak to endure such an existence longer.

She grew thin and haggard visibly; her cheeks were sunken, her eyes buried more and more deeply in their orbits, her face was pale, her look languis.h.i.+ng--in short, all the symptoms revealed that the nature which had hitherto so valiantly resisted, was rapidly giving way, and was undermined by an illness which had been secretly wasting her for a long time, and now displayed itself in its fell proportions.

Madame Guillois did not deceive herself as to her condition, she calculated coolly and exactly all the probable incidents, followed step by step the different phases of her illness, and when Sunbeam anxiously enquired what was the matter with her, and what she suffered from, she answered her with that calm and heart-breaking smile which the man condemned to death puts on when no hope is left him--a smile more affecting than a sob--

"It is nothing, my child,--I am dying."

These words were uttered with so strange an accent of gentleness and resignation that the young Indian felt her eyes fill with tears, and hid herself to weep.

One morning a bright sun shone on the village, the sky was blue, and the air mild. Madame Guillois, seated in front of her calli, was warming herself in this last smile of autumn, while mechanically watching the yellow leaves, which a light breeze turned round. Not far from her the children were sporting, chasing each other with merry bursts of laughter. Unicorn's squaw presently sat down by the old lady's side, took her hand, and looked at her sympathisingly.

"Does my mother feel better?" she asked her in her voice which was soft as the note of the Mexican nightingale.

"Thanks, my dear little one," the old lady answered, affectionately, "I am better."

"That is well," Sunbeam replied, with a charming smile; "for I have good news to tell my mother."

"Good news?" she said, hurriedly, as she gave her a piercing glance; "has my son arrived?"

"My mother would have seen him before this," the squaw said, with a tinge of gentle reproach in her voice.

"That is true," she muttered; "my poor Valentine!"

She let her head sink sadly on her bosom. Sunbeam looked at her for a moment with an expression of tender pity.

"Does not my mother wish to hear the news I have to tell her?" she went on.

Madame Guillois sighed.

"Speak, my child," she said.

"One of the great warriors of the tribe has just entered the village,"

the young woman continued; "Spider left the chief two days ago."

"Ah!" the old lady said, carelessly, seeing that Sunbeam stopped; "and where is the chief at this moment?"

"Spider says that Unicorn is in the mountains, with his warriors; he has seen Koutonepi."

"He has seen my son?" Madame Guillois exclaimed.

"He has seen him," Sunbeam repeated; "the hunter is pursuing Red Cedar with his friends."

"And--he is not wounded?" she asked anxiously.

The young Indian pouted her lips.

"Red Cedar is a dog and cowardly old woman," she said; "his arm is not strong enough, or his eye sure enough to wound the great pale hunter.

Koutonepi is a terrible warrior, he despises the barkings of the coyote."

Madame Guillois had lived long enough among the Indians to understand their figurative expressions; she gratefully pressed the young squaw's hand.

"Your great warrior has seen my son?" she said eagerly.

"Yes," Sunbeam quickly answered, "Spider saw the pale hunter, and spoke.

Koutonepi gave him a necklace for my mother."

"A necklace?" she repeated, in surprise, not understanding what the woman meant; "What am I to do with it?"

Sunbeam's face a.s.sumed a serious expression.

"The white men are great sorcerers," she said, "they know how to make powerful medicines; by figures traced on birch bark communicate their thoughts at great distances; s.p.a.ce does not exist for them. Will not my mother receive the necklace her son sends her?"

"Give it me, my dear child," she eagerly answered; "everything that comes from him is precious to me."

The young squaw drew from under her striped calico dress a square piece of bark of the size of her hand, and gave it to her. Madame Guillois took it curiously, not knowing what this present meant. She turned it over and over, while Sunbeam watched her attentively. All at once the old lady's features brightened, and she uttered a cry of joy; she had perceived a few words traced on the inside of the bark with the point of a knife.

"Is my mother satisfied?" Sunbeam asked.

"Oh, yes," she answered.

She eagerly perused the note; it was short, contained indeed but a few words, yet they filled the mother with delight; for they gave her certain news of her son. This is what Valentine wrote--

"My dear mother, be of good cheer, my health is excellent, I shall see you soon: your loving son, Valentine."

It was impossible to write a more laconic letter; but on the desert, where communication is so difficult, a son may be thanked for giving news of himself, if only in a word. Madame Guillois was delighted, and when she had read the note again, she turned to the young squaw.

"Is Spider a chief?" she asked.

"Spider is one of the great warriors of the tribe," Sunbeam answered proudly; "Unicorn places great confidence in him."

"Good; I understand. He has come here on a particular mission?"

"Unicorn ordered his friend to choose twenty picked warriors from the tribe, and lead them to him."

A sudden idea crossed Madame Guillois's mind.

"Does Sunbeam love me?" she asked her.

"I love my mother," the squaw replied, feelingly; "her son saved my life."

"Does not my daughter feel grieved at being away from her husband?" the old lady continued.

"Unicorn is a great chief; when he commands, Sunbeam bows and obeys without a murmur; the warrior is the strong and courageous eagle, the squaw is the timid dove."

There was a long silence, which Sunbeam at last broke by saying, with a meaning smile--

"My mother had something to ask of me?"