His head had the poise of an eagle.
His piercing glance scarcely rested an instant upon Allie. He
motioned for her to be taken away. Allie, as she was led back, got a
glimpse of the young squaw. Sullen, with bowed head, and dark rich
blood thick in her face, with heaving breast and clenched hands, she
presented a picture of outraged pride and jealousy.
Probably the chief had decided to claim Allie as his captive, a
decision which would be fiercely resented by the young Indian bride.
The camp quieted down after that. Allie peeped through a slit
between the hides of which her tent was constructed, and she saw no
one but squaws and children. The mustangs appeared worn out.
Evidently the braves and warriors were resting after a hard ride or
fight or foray.
Nothing happened. The hours dragged. Allie heard the breathing of
heavy sleepers. About dark she was fed again and bound.
That night she was awakened by a gentle shake. A hand moved from her
shoulder to her lips. The pale moonlight filtered into the tent.
Allie saw a figure kneeling beside her and she heard a whispered
"'Sh-s-s-sh!" Then her hands and feet were freed. She divined then
that the young squaw had come to let her go, in the dead of night.
Her heart throbbed high as her liberator held up a side of the tent.
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