On
this morning of the third day Roscoe strode forth from his tepee, with his
pack upon his back. An Indian guide waited for him outside. He had smoked
his last pipe with the chief, and now he went from tepee to tepee, in the
fashion of the Crees, and drew a single puff from the pipe of each master,
until there was but one tepee left, and in that was Oachi. With a white
face he rubbed his hand over the deer-flap, and waited. Slowly it was drawn
back, and Oachi came out. He had not seen her since the night he had driven
her from him, and he had planned to say things in this last moment which he
might have said then. But words stumbled on his lips. Oachi was changed.
She seemed taller. Her beautiful eyes looked at him clearly and proudly.
For the first time she was to him Oachi, the "Sun Child," a princess of the
First People--the daughter of a Cree chief. He held out his hand, and the
hand which Oachi gave to him was cold and lifeless. She smiled when he told
her that he had come to say good-bye, and when she spoke to him her voice
was as clear as the stream singing through the canon. His own voice
trembled. In spite of his mightiest effort a tightening fist seemed choking
him.
"I am coming back--some day," he managed.
Oachi smiled, with the glory of the morning sun in her eyes and hair.
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