Stone Girl knew by the hostile faces there was no reprieve.

“Uncles. If the small sister must stay, maybe I can stay also. I think she will not cry so much with me and Otter Boy. My son can walk with her on the march and I can teach her the good ways of the Indian. Maybe then she can breathe longer.”

The circle of black eyes gazed back at her. The mouth of the Indian with the broad nose turned down with disapproval.

“Young woman. It is better you do not come. But we are not like the white man. We will not drive our friends away. Gatati! Come. But if you try to take the child back, it will be bad for you and her, too.”

Stone Girl’s face was inscrutable. He went on.

“Young woman. I have more to say to you. You look Indian. You talk Indian. But the Yengwes have robbed you of the brave pitilessness of the Indian. It is not good to be sorry for the white deer. It is not good to be sorry for those who badly use you. Long ago the Great Spirit made a people. He called them the Guchuru. He gave them good country far south where flowers bloom in the wintertime. He gave them game, fish, corn, and squash. Another people came and saw the good Guchuru country. They went on the Guchuru land. They killed the Guchuru game and ate the Guchuru corn. The Guchuru did not fight or kill. Only felt sorry. They are hungry, the Guchuru said. Let them kill game, take corn and squash. Soon the Guchuru had nothing themselves to eat. Elkissa! said the Great Spirit. I have made Macho, something bad. What can I do with these people? They are good only to be sorry. Soon they starve. So he turned the Guchuru into a pigeon and called him Amemi. Now for a pigeon there was plenty food, nuts, seeds, berries. But the Amemi is still sorry. Every winter he goes south to visit the graves of his people. Summer and winter he still calls his name, Guchuru.”

Stone Girl gazed back at him.

“It is a true story,” she said. “My grandfather, Machilek, told it to me when I am a small girl. But I still wish to go with the small white sister.”

“Bischi. Very well,” he said. “Only remember that the Indian shoots the Guchuru.”

Stone Girl met his eyes steadily until he turned away. Then she went to Nan, who threw herself upon her in a fit of tears and emotion. Stone Girl let her cry on her breast for a while but the hysterical child refused to stop. In the end she had to push her off, turn her back squarely, and walk away.

THE small white girl, Nan, lay on the ground shivering. How many days it had been since the savages carried her off, she didn’t remember. Since the morning of horror at the preacher’s house, her young mind had been a confusion of blood and scalps, painted faces, dark silence and harsh foreign tongues. It was a nightmare from which she couldn’t awake. On the march she stumbled along as best she could. Nights she cried herself to sleep.