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<h3>Chapter Seventy Four.</h3> <h4>A Beautiful Hostess.</h4> “Aha, stranger!” said she, as I approached the tent, “he has altered your appearance wonderfully. Oh! you are not so frightful now. Come in! Here is pinole, and a little broiled goat’s flesh. I am sorry I did not bring some of the wild sheep. It is most excellent; but in my haste I did not think of it. Bread I cannot give you: we never have it here.” “I have been accustomed to ruder fare than this,” said I, accepting the proffered viands, and without further ceremony, seating myself to discuss them. There was an interval of silence, during which I continued eating. Once or twice, my hostess went out, returning again to see if anything was wanted. The warlike preparations going on outside appeared greatly to interest her; and I thought she regarded them with impatience, or as if anxious about the event. Who or what was the object of this solicitude? Wa-ka-ra? In what relationship stood she to the chief? A captive she could scarcely be: else would she not have been permitted to stray so far from the encampment? His wife? The separate tent, as also the style used by the Utah in addressing her, negatived the idea. What then? I longed to hear the history of this wild huntress; but the opportunity had not yet arrived. “Ah!” said she, returning once more within the tent, “I fear they will be too late. The red post is only just now erected; and the war-dance may last for an hour. It is a useless ceremony—only a superstition. The chief himself does not believe in it; but his braves will not go to battle without performing it. Hark! they are commencing the chaunt!” I caught the low monotone of many voices, gradually rising and swelling into a prolonged chorus. At intervals, one was heard speaking in solo: as if proclaiming some distinguished deed, to incite the warriors to emulation. Then followed a clangour of yells, and loud whoops, breathing menace and revenge. “It is the war-song that accompanies their dance,” added she. “You may rest till it is finished. Then you must be ready: they will ride off as soon as the ceremony is over.” She flung herself on one of the buffalo-robes that covered the floor of the tent; and half seated, half reclining, appeared to reflect. The attitude displayed a feminine form of magnificent outlines; and with a face dazzlingly beautiful, this singular woman presented a picture something more than attractive. “Wa-ka-ra must love her?” thought I. As I made this reflection, I again observed the melancholy expression upon her countenance; and once more the resemblance to her of whom I was thinking! My interest in the beautiful huntress was every moment augmenting. I felt an indescribable yearning to hear the story of her misfortunes: for in no other light could I regard the situation in which I had found her. “You have promised to tell me of yourself?” said I, reminding her of what she had said. “I shall keep my promise—upon the condition, of which I have forewarned you.” “Name it then—if not impossible, I am ready to accept it.” “It is not impossible—though it may tax your generosity more than you expect. You have said that you intend returning to the States. Will you take me with, you?” A start must have betrayed my astonishment at the unexpected request. “Willingly,” I replied; “but now—I fear—it is impossible.” “Your journey is not ended? Is that what you mean?” “Alas! I know not when or where it may end.” “That is strange! But you intend to go back some time? Till then, let me be your travelling companion?” The proposal left me for the moment without a word to say. “Oh, do not refuse me!” continued she, in an appealing tone; “I will wait upon you; I will hunt for you—anything, but longer I cannot stay here. With all their kindness—and they have been kind, in their own rude fashion—I cannot remain. I long for the society of civilised beings. O stranger! I cannot tell you how I long to see!”—She hesitated. “Whom?” I asked in expectation of hearing a name. “A sister—a sweet gentle sister, who loved me as her own life—whom I loved more than my life. Oh! not till we were parted knew I the strength of that love.” “How long since you have seen this sister?” “Six months ago, I left her—deceived by a villain, I left her. Six years it has seemed! Oh! I cannot endure this savage life. They honour me—they give me all the hospitality in their power—but I am not happy. Stranger, say you will relieve me from this terrible existence? Say you will take me with you?” “I freely promise it, if it be your desire. But what of these? Will they—will he consent?” “Who?” “Wa-ka-ra.” “Yes—yes! He has said I may go, whenever an opportunity should offer. Brave chief! he has nobly kept his word to him who is now no more.” “To whom?” “To him who saved my life—to him who saved me—Ah! see, the chief approaches! the war-song is ended. At another time, I shall tell you all; but not now. We must haste, or the warriors will be gone.” “Surely you do not intend to accompany us?” “The women follow at a distance, to take care of the wounded. I go with them.” The voice of Wa-ka-ra, calling to me to join him and his warriors, put an end to a dialogue, that had done but little to illustrate the story of the strange personage by my side. If possible, I was more mystified than ever. But it was not a time to be tempted by the lure of an idle curiosity, however interesting the theme. The perilous situation of my old comrades came once more vividly before my mind. The thought recalled me to my duty; and, hurrying from the presence of that beautiful being—whom I hoped soon to behold again—I leaped upon the back of my horse; and joined the Utah warriors, as they swept in full gallop from out the lines of their encampment. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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