Girl in a Buckskin

with both hands. Turning to face the door she cocked the gun and held it ready, but no one came. The flap did not so much as stir.
    After a few minutes Becky crept to the door and gently pried a comer of the flap away. Nothing moved. If she fired the musket into the air Eseck would hear it but he would never reach her in time should it be a hostile Indian outside, and if there were more than one Indian she would never dare to fire the gun lest Eseck hurry back and be caught in a trap. As her mind raced ahead to meet every danger Becky heard the faint sound of a sliding pebble on the beach and when she peeled back the flap another inch she spied an Indian walking stealthily toward her copper pot.
    She watched him approach the kettle and sniff the strange brew. Taking the stick she had dropped he poked it into the soap and sniffed it again. Then as Becky stood with her mouth open he blew on the hot mixture and suddenly popped it into his mouth. A horrible expression crept over his face; he gagged, choked and turning away spat the soap on the ground.
    Becky stifled her laughter. She recognized their trespasser now by the scarlet feathers and beads he wore tied to his scalp lock. He was a Mahican, one of Black Eagle’s tribe, and he had shaken the rattles at the powwow three moons ago when she and Eseck had entered the valley. Composing her face Becky drew back the door flap and walked soberly toward him. “Welcome,” she said, making the only sign she knew and attempting to keep her face stem.
    The Indian broke into excited, guttural speech, pointing to the kettle, his mouth and Becky. She replied by going to the kettle and removing it from the fire. Then with elaborate motions she pretended to wash her face and hands.
    She was doing this when Eseck stepped suddenly from behind a tree. “By the great horn spoon,” he said “what are you doing?”
    “Showing this Indian that it is soap in the kettle. I pretended not to see but he ate some of it.”
    Eseck smiled faintly. “Welcome,” he said to their visitor and again the Indian broke into excited speech. “He asks if this is white man’s meat,” Eseck explained to Becky. “You had best fetch him some meat for his feelings are sorely wounded. And wipe the smile from your face as you go, for he knows very well you were peering from the cave when he sampled the soap.”
    Grinning, Becky went into the cave to take them food. When she came out Eseck and the Indian were squatting beside the fire smoking a pipe. The Indian gave her a long, I reproachful glance before he accepted the wild turkey she * had been roasting inside on the spit. “Tell him this is not soap,” she teased Eseck.
    But Eseck’s face had turned lean and grim again.
    “What is it?” Becky asked. “Does he bring news?”
    “Aye.Redfoot says Dawn-of-the-sky and Blue Feather are well.”
    “Yes.”
    “He tells me that he was our visitor of several days ago. ”
    “Yes.”
    Eseck’s lips tightened. “And he tells me the French Indians have taken up the war hatchet again.”
    Becky stared at him in consternation. “War!”
    “Aye.”
    “There has been fighting?”
    “Even so.” Eseck’s eyes hardened. “North of here, near the sea. He means Maine, no doubt.”
    “The Wabenakis?”
    He nodded.
    “The very same ones who captured you?”
    He shrugged. “There are many tribes of the Wabenaki Nation—Calibas, Malicites and Micmacs, Sokokis, Pennacooks. I was captured by the Calibas, which the English would call the Kennebecs.”
    “But Dudley,” she cried, waving this aside, “the peace pact—how could there be war!”
    Eseck sighed. “Broken promises. White man’s quarrels. French intrigue. The English drive the Maine Indians farther and farther north. They are fighting for their land.”
    “Land!” she cried. “It’s murderous! More fathers and mothers killed in cold blood—aye, butchered like animals. More children orphaned and turned into paupers—yes, and men tortured—and you sitting here with an Indian while I have served him food. Oh, shame!” she cried and with tears in her eyes she ran into the cave where she lay down on her pallet and kicked her heels in anguish and frustration.
    Eseck found her there later, when Redfoot had departed, and he quietly sat down on the earthen floor beside her. He said nothing for a long time but bringing out his jackknife began to whittle on a piece of poplar wood. At last he said in a strange voice, “Becky.”
    She rolled