A Warriors Daughter | Page 4

for him. With both hands he spreads the meshes of the loosely-woven
willows, and crawls out unnoticed into the dark.
Before him stands the young woman. Beckoning him with a slender
hand, she steps backward, away from the light and the restless throng
of onlookers. He follows with impatient strides. She quickens her pace.
He lengthens his strides. Then suddenly the woman turns from him and
darts away with amazing speed. Clinching his fists and biting his lower
lip, the young man runs after the fleeing woman. In his maddened
pursuit he forgets the dance arena.

Beside a cluster of low bushes the woman halts. The young man,
panting for breath and plunging headlong forward, whispers loud,
"Pray tell me, are you a woman or an evil spirit to lure me away?"
Turning on heels firmly planted in the earth, the woman gives a wild
spring forward, like a panther for its prey. In a husky voice she hissed
between her teeth, "I am a Dakota woman!"
From her unerring long knife the enemy falls heavily at her feet. The
Great Spirit heard Tusee's prayer on the hilltop. He gave her a warrior's
strong heart to lessen the foe by one.
A bent old woman's figure, with a bundle like a grandchild slung on her
back, walks round and round the dance-house. The wearied onlookers
are leaving in twos and threes. The tired dancers creep out of the
willow railing, and some go out at the entrance way, till the singers, too,
rise from the drum and are trudging drowsily homeward. Within the
arena the centre fire lies broken in red embers. The night no longer
lingers about the willow railing, but, hovering into the dance-house,
covers here and there a snoring man whom sleep has overpowered
where he sat.
The captive in his tight-binding rawhide ropes hangs in hopeless
despair. Close about him the gloom of night is slowly crouching. Yet
the last red, crackling embers cast a faint light upon his long black hair,
and, shining through the thick mats, caress his wan face with undying
hope.
Still about the dance-house the old woman prowls. Now the embers are
gray with ashes.
The old bent woman appears at the entrance way. With a cautious,
groping foot she enters. Whispering between her teeth a lullaby for her
sleeping child in her blanket, she searches for something forgotten.
Noisily snored the dreaming men in the darkest parts. As the lisping old
woman draws nigh, the captive again opens his eyes.

A forefinger she presses to her lip. The young man arouses himself
from his stupor. His senses belie him. Before his wide-open eyes the
old bent figure straightens into its youthful stature. Tusee herself is
beside him. With a stroke upward and downward she severs the cruel
cords with her sharp blade. Dropping her blanket from her shoulders, so
that it hangs from her girdled waist like a skirt, she shakes the large
bundle into a light shawl for her lover. Quickly she spreads it over his
bare back.
"Come!" she whispers, and turns to go; but the young man, numb and
helpless, staggers nigh to falling.
The sight of his weakness makes her strong. A mighty power thrills her
body. Stooping beneath his outstretched arms grasping at the air for
support, Tusee lifts him upon her broad shoulders. With half-running,
triumphant steps she carries him away into the open night.
2 RTEXTR*ch

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