The Indians Hand | Page 3

Her throat was parched,
and her temples beat wildly. She must go back and start again,
strengthened, fortified. She would start tomorrow, or at night, when the
cool would let her get too far to return.
By slow degrees she dragged herself up the hill. The pale woman came
out of her house, and nodded, but the woman in black did not smile in
return. She closed her door, and went up to her bed, and fell on it, and
slept, amid the buzzing of the flies and the fitful flapping of the
window-shade in the breeze.
The pale woman sighed and glanced across the plain. The roll of
blowing dust was larger, and more regular, and nearer. The woman
shuddered as she watched it creep slowly along behind the sand
mounds. "It always blows," she said to herself, "but not like that, so
steadily, so even." She strained her eyes, but there was only dust to be
seen. Then she thought of a telescope that belonged to the minister's
wife, who came from a seaport town, and ran to fetch it. The two
women came out with it together, the minister's wife laughing at her
friend, she was such a timid thing! But the pale woman was paler than
ever, and trembled so she could not steady it. The laughing one looked

through it, and laughed no more.
"I see a head over the mound there," she said.
The pale woman shrieked.
"They are miles away. We may have time."
"For what?"
"To get away."
"They may be friends--"
"They are Indians! White men would not live through that sand. We
must go to the woods. Help me. Warn the women. Gather the children.
Come."
She rushed into her house. The other still stood and looked.
The dust cloud was a little nearer. In a moment all was wild confusion,
names were called, but not loudly, girls sobbed, some carried their little
treasures, mothers held their children. All gathered together, hidden
from the plain by a house.
The pale woman led out her father, then ran to her neighbor's door. She
opened it, and called clearly, but softly, "Mary, Mary." There was no
answer. The woman in black, on her bed, slept on. Her neighbor
hesitated, then hurried after the others, as they ran up the low hills
toward the mountains, where their men had gone.
The dust cloud grew nearer. Now and then a head could be seen. But all
was as still as the grave. The woman in black slept heavily and
dreamed that revenge had come at last--that in her hand she held an
Indian's head.
The window-shade flapped loudly, and she woke with an apprehension
crushing her. She went to the window and looked out. There was no
blowing dust upon the plains, and the street was empty. The doors of

the houses stood open; a shawl lay in the middle of the road. The
woman leaned out and looked toward the woods.
She saw on the crest of a hill the white skirts of the flying women, and
then, below, down the road, her ears sharpened, her heart tightening,
she heard the soft, regular thumping of horses' feet.
Then she knew.
She sat on the edge of the bed. This was what she had waited for! Was
it her turn now?--or theirs again?
She could kill one.
Where was her gun?
She had loaned it to the men.
But her axe--that was below.
As she started for it, there was a burst of war cries.
She ran down the narrow stairs, and took the axe from its place on the
wall.
They were passing her door. The room grew lighter. She turned. One
stood in the open doorway, black against the sunshine. She set her teeth
hard, hid the axe behind her skirts, watched him motionless.
He stretched out his hand clawlike, and laughed, his eyes gleaming, as
catlike he moved nearer, A terror seized her: with a hoarse cry, she
sprang up the stairs, flinging down a chair as he followed panting.
Quickly she climbed up the ladder to the loft, threw down the trapdoor,
fell on it, bolted it, waited. All was still. Outside she heard the distant
yells. She stooped noiselessly and put her ear upon the floor. There was
soft breathing underneath, and through a crack in the floor she saw an
eye peering up at her.

She stood a long time, motionless, axe in hand, ready.
Her back was to the bolt, but suddenly she felt that there was something
there. She turned softly. A slim brown hand was almost through a
crevice in the floor.
She raised her axe. The slender fingers touched the bolt and gently
drew it back.
Then with the force of all her hatred fell the axe