Girl in a Buckskin

return to Shoonkeekmoonkeek with Becky when the maple-sugaring season was over. Dawn-of-the-sky’s huge eyes stared gravely at Becky when she told her, and bowing her head she thanked her politely for thinking of her. But there was no joy in her.
    “Kee-sogh will poo-tou-wah in you,” Becky told her haltingly. “The sun will make a fire in you and you will be happy again.”
    “You are good friend,” Dawn-of-the-sky said simply.
    Redfoot had returned from guiding O’Hara to the edge of the valley and Becky remembered again her trip into the Housatunnick with Eseck. Would O’Hara stop at the same cabin she and Eseck had skirted, she wondered, where the woman had leaned over her washtubs in the sun? Would he find the woman still there beside the cabin? She smiled ruefully at such a foolish notion and yet in her mind the woman remained fixed forever over her tub, when in truth an autumn and a hard winter had passed. For all she knew the woman might have been killed by the Indians long since, like many a woman on an outpost farm, killed and scalped in the middle of the night and her farm burned to white ashes.
    The days hung heavy for Becky but she was glad of company and warmed herself in the companionship of the other women. She helped them boil away the maple sugar over the huge fires at the camp and plant early corn in the fields. The nights she spent less amiably. Tossing by the fire she would think of Eseck and of O’Hara and how she must soon go back to Shoonkeekmoonkeek and make a fresh start. She had lied to O’Hara when she told him she was not afraid. Her nerves trembled at the thought of being alone again. The long winter, Eseck’s disappearance, the coming of the French Indians had sapped her courage and she was afraid now, afraid of loneliness, of the Indians and the forest. It was as if with O’Hara’s departure something had snapped inside of her that had once been taut as her drawstring. The winter had thinned her and there were smudges under her eyes but worst of all her heart felt bruised, and a tired heart had no room for courage. Her one hope lay in the thought of Dawn-of-the-sky’s returning with her. She knew she would welcome her company at Shoonkeekmoonkeek like water after a long drought, for the thought of being alone with herself filled her with dread.
    One night when Becky was staring deep into the flames of the fire Dawn-of-the-sky sat down beside her with the baby in her arms. “You are very sad,” she said. “I see you are sad. Sadness is my friend.”
    Becky took her hand and squeezed it, grateful to see her, for it had seemed of late as though Dawn-of-the-sky were avoiding her. “I will not be sad when we go back together to Shoonkeekmoonkeek and I hope you will no longer be sad, either. We will swim again in the lake and we will go maple-sugaring with little Blue Feather on your back and soon there will be wild strawberries in the woods and the birds will sing.”
    Dawn-of-the-sky smiled. “This man—this man with three legs—you wee-ween him?”
    “Marry him?” Becky shook her head in surprise. “The man with three legs has gone.”
    Dawn-of-the-sky nodded. “You wear skirt for him. He marry you.”
    Becky smiled faintly. “I have the skirt, but no man, Dawn-of-the-sky. I fear there will never be a man for me but do not let this add to your sorrow.”
    Dawn-of-the-sky smiled and shook her head. “You my friend. Remember that. You wear skirt for him, he marry you.” And with this she slipped quietly away into the darkness.
    In the morning Dawn-of-the-sky was not in her lodge. They found Little Blue Feather asleep on his board by the fire, his fat fists curled under his chin, but there was no sign of his mother. Following the other women into the wigwam Becky was puzzled. “But why has she left the baby?” she asked. “Always she carries the baby on her back.”
    The mother of Mkhooh-que-thoth, the Owl, answered her. “Big trouble,” she said, her eyes like dead black stones in her seamed face. “Big sadness, big trouble.”
    The councilors were called into Black Eagle’s wigwam at once and the runner dispatched to the village down river. Since most of the braves had gone on their great hunting trip there were only old men and young boys to follow the faint trail in the mud that they found south of the village. Becky watched them go with anxious eyes.
    “ Maus-wau-se-ki the old woman muttered broodingly. “What is that?” Becky asked, turning on her