A Warrior's Daughter

In the afternoon shadow of a large tepee, with red-painted smoke lapels, sat a warrior father with crossed shins. His head was so poised that his eye swept easily the vast level land to the eastern horizon line.

A warrior father sat with his legs crossed in the afternoon shade of a large tepee with red-painted smoke flaps. He held his head so he could easily see across the vast, flat land to the eastern horizon.

He was the chieftain's bravest warrior. He had won by heroic deeds the privilege of staking his wigwam within the great circle of tepees.

He was the chief's bravest warrior. His heroic deeds had earned him the privilege of pitching his wigwam within the great circle of tepees.

He was also one of the most generous gift givers to the toothless old people. For this he was entitled to the red-painted smoke lapels on his cone-shaped dwelling. He was proud of his honors. He never wearied of rehearsing nightly his own brave deeds. Though by wigwam fires he prated much of his high rank and widespread fame, his great joy was a wee black-eyed daughter of eight sturdy winters. Thus as he sat upon the soft grass, with his wife at his side, bent over her bead work, he was singing a dance song, and beat lightly the rhythm with his slender hands.

He was also one of the most generous givers of gifts to the toothless old people. This earned him the right to paint the smoke flaps of his cone-shaped dwelling red. He was proud of his honors. He never tired of recounting his own brave deeds every night. Though he talked endlessly by wigwam fires about his high rank and widespread fame, his greatest joy was his little black-eyed daughter, a sturdy eight-year-old. As he sat on the soft grass, his wife sat beside him, bent over her beadwork. He sang a dance song, lightly tapping out the rhythm with his slender hands.

His shrewd eyes softened with pleasure as he watched the easy movements of the small body dancing on the green before him.

His sharp eyes softened with pleasure as he watched the small body move easily, dancing on the grass before him.

Tusee is taking her first dancing lesson. Her tightly-braided hair curves over both brown ears like a pair of crooked little horns which glisten in the summer sun.

Tusee is taking her first dancing lesson. Her tightly braided hair curves over both brown ears like a pair of crooked little horns. The braids glisten in the summer sun.

With her snugly moccasined feet close together, and a wee hand at her belt to stay the long string of beads which hang from her bare neck, she bends her knees gently to the rhythm of her father's voice.

Her snugly moccasined feet are close together. She holds one small hand at her belt to steady the long string of beads hanging from her bare neck. She gently bends her knees to the rhythm of her father's voice.

Now she ventures upon the earnest movement, slightly upward and sidewise, in a circle. At length the song drops into a closing cadence, and the little woman, clad in beaded deerskin, sits down beside the elder one. Like her mother, she sits upon her feet. In a brief moment the warrior repeats the last refrain. Again Tusee springs to her feet and dances to the swing of the few final measures.

Now she begins the earnest movement, circling slightly upward and sideways. At last, the song comes to a closing cadence. The little woman, dressed in beaded deerskin, sits down beside the older woman. Like her mother, she sits on her feet. A moment later, the warrior repeats the last refrain. Tusee springs to her feet again and dances to the rhythm of the final few measures.

Just as the dance was finished, an elderly man, with short, thick hair loose about his square shoulders, rode into their presence from the rear, and leaped lightly from his pony's back. Dropping the rawhide rein to the ground, he tossed himself lazily on the grass. "Hunhe, you have returned soon," said the warrior, while extending a hand to his little daughter.

Just as the dance ended, an elderly man rode up behind them. His short, thick hair hung loose around his square shoulders. He leaped lightly off his pony, dropped the rawhide rein to the ground, and threw himself lazily onto the grass. "Hunhe, you have returned soon," said the warrior, reaching out his hand to his little daughter.

Quickly the child ran to her father's side and cuddled close to him, while he tenderly placed a strong arm about her. Both father and child, eyeing the figure on the grass, waited to hear the man's report.

The child quickly ran to her father's side and cuddled close to him. He tenderly wrapped a strong arm around her. Father and child looked at the figure on the grass and waited to hear the man's report.

"It is true," began the man, with a stranger's accent. "This is the night of the dance."

"It's true," said the man, speaking with a stranger's accent. "Tonight is the night of the dance."

"Hunha!" muttered the warrior with some surprise.

"Hunha!" the warrior muttered, somewhat surprised.

Propping himself upon his elbows, the man raised his face. His features were of the Southern type. From an enemy's camp he was taken captive long years ago by Tusee's father. But the unusual qualities of the slave had won the Sioux warrior's heart, and for the last three winters the man had had his freedom. He was made real man again. His hair was allowed to grow. However, he himself had chosen to stay in the warrior's family.

Propping himself up on his elbows, the man raised his face. His features were of the Southern type. Long ago, Tusee's father had taken him captive from an enemy camp. But the slave's unusual qualities had won the Sioux warrior's heart. For the last three winters, the man had been free. He was made a real man again. He was allowed to let his hair grow. However, he had chosen to stay with the warrior's family.

"Hunha!" again ejaculated the warrior father. Then turning to his little daughter, he asked, "Tusee, do you hear that?"

"Hunha!" the warrior father exclaimed again. Then he turned to his little daughter and asked, "Tusee, do you hear that?"

"Yes, father, and I am going to dance tonight!"

"Yes, father, and I'm going to dance tonight!"

"My child, in honor of your first dance your father must give a generous gift. His ponies are wild, and roam beyond the great hill. Pray, what has he fit to offer?" she questioned, the pair of puzzled eyes fixed upon her.

"My child, to honor your first dance, your father must give a generous gift. His ponies are wild and roam beyond the great hill. What does he have that is suitable to give?" she asked, as a pair of puzzled eyes looked at her.

"A pony from the herd, mother, a fleet-footed pony from the herd!" Tusee shouted with sudden inspiration.

"A pony from the herd, Mother, a fast pony from the herd!" Tusee shouted, suddenly inspired.

Pointing a small forefinger toward the man lying on the grass, she cried, "Uncle, you will go after the pony tomorrow!" And pleased with her solution of the problem, she skipped wildly about. Her childish faith in her elders was not conditioned by a knowledge of human limitations, but thought all things possible to grown-ups.

Pointing a small finger at the man lying on the grass, she cried, "Uncle, you will go after the pony tomorrow!" Pleased with her solution, she skipped wildly about. She had a child’s faith in her elders and did not know that people had limits. She thought grown-ups could do anything.

"Hähob!" exclaimed the mother, with a rising inflection, implying by the expletive that her child's buoyant spirit be not weighted with a denial.

"Hähob!" exclaimed the mother, her voice rising. With this exclamation, she meant to spare her child's cheerful spirit the burden of a refusal.

Quickly to the hard request the man replied, "How! I go if Tusee tells me so!"

The man quickly replied to the difficult request, "How! I'll go if Tusee tells me to!"

This delighted the little one, whose black eyes brimmed over with light. Standing in front of the strong man, she clapped her small, brown hands with joy.

This delighted the little girl, and her black eyes shone with joy. Standing in front of the strong man, she clapped her small, brown hands happily.

"That makes me glad! My heart is good! Go, uncle, and bring a handsome pony!" she cried. In an instant she would have frisked away, but an impulse held her tilting where she stood. In the man's own tongue, for he had taught her many words and phrases, she exploded, "Thank you, good uncle, thank you!" then tore away from sheer excess of glee.

"That makes me glad! My heart is good! Go, uncle, and bring a handsome pony!" she cried. She was about to skip away, but an impulse made her pause, leaning to one side. The man had taught her many words and phrases in his language. In that language, she burst out, "Thank you, good uncle, thank you!" Then she raced away, overflowing with joy.

The proud warrior father, smiling and narrowing his eyes, muttered approval, "Howo! Hechetu!"

The proud warrior father smiled and narrowed his eyes, muttering his approval, "Howo! Hechetu!"

Like her mother, Tusee has finely pencilled eyebrows and slightly extended nostrils; but in her sturdiness of form she resembles her father.

Like her mother, Tusee has finely shaped eyebrows and slightly flared nostrils. But her sturdy build resembles her father's.

A loyal daughter, she sits within her tepee making beaded deerskins for her father, while he longs to stave off her every suitor as all unworthy of his old heart's pride. But Tusee is not alone in her dwelling. Near the entrance-way a young brave is half reclining on a mat. In silence he watches the petals of a wild rose growing on the soft buckskin. Quickly the young woman slips the beads on the silvery sinew thread, and works them into the pretty flower design. Finally, in a low, deep voice, the young man begins:

A loyal daughter, Tusee sits in her tepee making beaded deerskins for her father. He wants to turn away every suitor, believing none worthy of the daughter who is his pride. But Tusee is not alone in her home. Near the entrance, a young brave reclines on a mat. Silently, he watches as the petals of a wild rose take shape on the soft buckskin. The young woman quickly slips beads onto the silvery sinew thread and works them into the pretty flower design. Finally, the young man begins to speak in a low, deep voice:

"The sun is far past the zenith. It is now only a man's height above the western edge of land. I hurried hither to tell you tomorrow I join the war party."

"The sun is well past its highest point. It is now only a man's height above the western horizon. I hurried here to tell you that I join the war party tomorrow."

He pauses for reply, but the maid's head drops lower over her deerskin, and her lips are more firmly drawn together. He continues:

He pauses for an answer, but the young woman lowers her head further over her deerskin and presses her lips together more firmly. He continues:

"Last night in the moonlight I met your warrior father. He seemed to know I had just stepped forth from your tepee. I fear he did not like it, for though I greeted him, he was silent. I halted in his pathway. With what boldness I dared, while my heart was beating hard and fast, I asked him for his only daughter.

"Last night, I met your warrior father in the moonlight. He seemed to know I had just come out of your tepee. I fear he did not like that. Though I greeted him, he said nothing. I stopped in his path. With all the courage I could muster, I asked him for his only daughter. My heart was beating hard and fast.

"Drawing himself erect to his tallest height, and gathering his loose robe more closely about his proud figure, he flashed a pair of piercing eyes upon me.

"He stood as tall as he could and pulled his loose robe closer around his proud figure. Then he fixed his piercing eyes on me.

"'Young man,' said he, with a cold, slow voice that chilled me to the marrow of my bones, 'hear me. Naught but an enemy's scalp-lock, plucked fresh with your own hand, will buy Tusee for your wife,' Then he turned on his heel and stalked away."

"'Young man,' he said in a cold, slow voice that chilled me to the bone, 'listen to me. Only an enemy's scalp-lock, freshly taken by your own hand, will buy Tusee as your wife.' Then he turned on his heel and walked away."

Tusee thrusts her work aside. With earnest eyes she scans her lover's face.

Tusee pushes her work aside. She studies her lover's face intently.

"My father's heart is really kind. He would know if you are brave and true," murmured the daughter, who wished no ill-will between her two loved ones.

“My father is really kind. He would know if you are brave and true,” the daughter said softly. She did not want bad feelings between the two people she loved.

Then rising to go, the youth holds out a right hand. "Grasp my hand once firmly before I go, Hoye. Pray tell me, will you wait and watch for my return?"

Then the young man rises to leave and holds out his right hand. "Hold my hand firmly once before I go, Hoye. Please tell me, will you wait and watch for my return?"

Tusee only nods assent, for mere words are vain.

Tusee only nods in agreement, because words alone are useless.

At early dawn the round camp-ground awakes into song. Men and women sing of bravery and of triumph. They inspire the swelling breasts of the painted warriors mounted on prancing ponies bedecked with the green branches of trees.

At dawn, the round campground wakes to song. Men and women sing of bravery and triumph. Their songs fill the painted warriors with pride. The warriors ride prancing ponies decorated with green tree branches.

Riding slowly around the great ring of cone-shaped tepees, here and there, a loud-singing warrior swears to avenge a former wrong, and thrusts a bare brown arm against the purple east, calling the Great Spirit to hear his vow. All having made the circuit, the singing war party gallops away southward.

As the warriors ride slowly around the great ring of cone-shaped tepees, a warrior here and there sings loudly and swears to avenge a past wrong. He thrusts his bare brown arm toward the purple eastern sky, calling on the Great Spirit to hear his vow. Once they have all ridden around the ring, the singing war party gallops south.

Astride their ponies laden with food and deerskins, brave elderly women follow after their warriors. Among the foremost rides a young woman in elaborately beaded buckskin dress. Proudly mounted, she curbs with the single rawhide loop a wild-eyed pony.

Brave elderly women follow their warriors on ponies loaded with food and deerskins. Near the front rides a young woman in a buckskin dress with elaborate beadwork. Sitting proudly on her wild-eyed pony, she controls it with a single loop of rawhide.

It is Tusee on her father's warhorse. Thus the war party of Indian men and their faithful women vanish beyond the southern skyline.

It is Tusee on her father's warhorse. The war party of Indian men and their faithful women disappears beyond the southern horizon.

A day's journey brings them very near the enemy's borderland. Nightfall finds a pair of twin tepees nestled in a deep ravine. Within one lounge the painted warriors, smoking their pipes and telling weird stories by the firelight, while in the other watchful women crouch uneasily about their center fire.

A day's journey brings them close to the enemy's borderland. By nightfall, two matching tepees sit nestled in a deep ravine. In one, painted warriors lounge by the fire, smoking their pipes and telling strange stories. In the other, watchful women crouch uneasily around the central fire.

By the first gray light in the east the tepees are banished. They are gone. The warriors are in the enemy's camp, breaking dreams with their tomahawks. The women are hid away in secret places in the long thicketed ravine.

By the first gray light in the east, the tepees have vanished. They are gone. The warriors are in the enemy’s camp, breaking dreams with their tomahawks. The women are hidden in secret places in the long, densely wooded ravine.

The day is far spent, the red sun is low over the west.

The day is nearly over, and the red sun is low in the west.

At length straggling warriors return, one by one, to the deep hollow. In the twilight they number their men. Three are missing. Of these absent ones two are dead; but the third one, a young man, is a captive to the foe.

At last, the scattered warriors return to the deep hollow, one by one. In the twilight, they count their men. Three are missing. Two are dead, but the third, a young man, is a prisoner of the enemy.

"He-he!" lament the warriors, taking food in haste.

“He-he!” the warriors cry sadly as they hurry to eat.

In silence each woman, with long strides, hurries to and fro, tying large bundles on her pony's back. Under cover of night the war party must hasten homeward. Motionless, with bowed head, sits a woman in her hiding-place. She grieves for her lover.

In silence, each woman hurries back and forth with long strides, tying large bundles onto her pony's back. The war party must hurry home under cover of darkness. A woman sits motionless in her hiding place, her head bowed. She grieves for her lover.

In bitterness of spirit she hears the warriors' murmuring words. With set teeth she plans to cheat the hated enemy of their captive. In the meanwhile low signals are given, and the war party, unaware of Tusee's absence, steal quietly away. The soft thud of pony-hoofs grows fainter and fainter. The gradual hush of the empty ravine whirrs noisily in the ear of the young woman. Alert for any sound of footfalls nigh, she holds her breath to listen. Her right hand rests on a long knife in her belt. Ah, yes, she knows where her pony is hid, but not yet has she need of him. Satisfied that no danger is nigh, she prowls forth from her place of hiding. With a panther's tread and pace she climbs the high ridge beyond the low ravine. From thence she spies the enemy's camp-fires.

Bitter at heart, she hears the warriors murmuring. With clenched teeth, she plans to keep their captive from the hated enemy. Meanwhile, quiet signals are given, and the war party slips away, unaware that Tusee is missing. The soft thud of pony hooves grows fainter and fainter. As the empty ravine gradually falls silent, the hush seems to roar in the young woman's ears. She holds her breath and listens for any footsteps nearby. Her right hand rests on a long knife in her belt. Ah, yes, she knows where her pony is hidden, but she does not need him yet. Satisfied that no danger is near, she creeps out of hiding. Moving like a panther, she climbs the high ridge beyond the shallow ravine. From there, she spots the enemy's campfires.

Rooted to the barren bluff the slender woman's figure stands on the pinnacle of night, outlined against a starry sky. The cool night breeze wafts to her burning ear snatches of song and drum. With desperate hate she bites her teeth.

The slender woman stands rooted to the bare bluff, high in the night, outlined against a starry sky. The cool night breeze carries snatches of song and drumming to her burning ear. She clenches her teeth in desperate hatred.

Tusee beckons the stars to witness. With impassioned voice and uplifted face she pleads:

Tusee calls on the stars to witness. With her face raised and her voice full of passion, she pleads:

"Great Spirit, speed me to my lover's rescue! Give me swift cunning for a weapon this night! All-powerful Spirit, grant me my warrior-father's heart, strong to slay a foe and mighty to save a friend!"

"Great Spirit, help me reach my lover quickly and rescue him! Give me quick wit as a weapon tonight! All-powerful Spirit, give me my warrior father's heart, strong enough to kill an enemy and powerful enough to save a friend!"

In the midst of the enemy's camp-ground, underneath a temporary dance-house, are men and women in gala-day dress. It is late in the night, but the merry warriors bend and bow their nude, painted bodies before a bright center fire. To the lusty men's voices and the rhythmic throbbing drum, they leap and rebound with feathered headgears waving.

In the middle of the enemy's camp, men and women in festive dress gather under a temporary dance house. It is late at night, but the joyful warriors bend and bow their naked, painted bodies before a bright central fire. To the sound of strong men's voices and the rhythmic beat of a drum, they leap and spring back, their feathered headdresses waving.

Women with red-painted cheeks and long, braided hair sit in a large half-circle against the willow railing. They, too, join in the singing, and rise to dance with their victorious warriors.

Women with red-painted cheeks and long, braided hair sit in a large half-circle against the willow railing. They also join in the singing and rise to dance with their victorious warriors.

Amid this circular dance arena stands a prisoner bound to a post, haggard with shame and sorrow. He hangs his disheveled head.

In the middle of the circular dance arena, a prisoner stands tied to a post. He looks worn with shame and sorrow. He hangs his head, his hair in disarray.

He stares with unseeing eyes upon the bare earth at his feet. With jeers and smirking faces the dancers mock the Dakota captive. Rowdy braves and small boys hoot and yell in derision.

He stares blankly at the bare earth at his feet. The dancers mock the Dakota captive, jeering and smirking at him. Rowdy warriors and small boys hoot and yell at him.

Silent among the noisy mob, a tall woman, leaning both elbows on the round willow railing, peers into the lighted arena. The dancing center fire shines bright into her handsome face, intensifying the night in her dark eyes. It breaks into myriad points upon her beaded dress. Unmindful of the surging throng jostling her at either side, she glares in upon the hateful, scoffing men. Suddenly she turns her head. Tittering maids whisper near her ear:

Silent among the noisy crowd, a tall woman rests both elbows on the round willow railing and peers into the lit arena. The dancing fire at its center shines brightly on her handsome face, deepening the darkness in her eyes. Its light breaks into countless points on her beaded dress. Unaware of the surging crowd jostling her on both sides, she glares at the hateful, mocking men. Suddenly she turns her head. Giggling young women whisper near her ear:

"There! There! See him now, sneering in the captive's face. 'Tis he who sprang upon the young man and dragged him by his long hair to yonder post. See! He is handsome! How gracefully he dances!"

"There! There! Look at him now, sneering in the captive's face. He's the one who jumped on the young man and dragged him by his long hair to that post over there. Look! He's handsome! How gracefully he dances!"

The silent young woman looks toward the bound captive. She sees a warrior, scarce older than the captive, flourishing a tomahawk in the Dakota's face. A burning rage darts forth from her eyes and brands him for a victim of revenge. Her heart mutters within her breast, "Come, I wish to meet you, vile foe, who captured my lover and tortures him now with a living death."

The silent young woman looks toward the bound captive. She sees a warrior, barely older than the captive, waving a tomahawk in the Dakota's face. Burning rage flashes from her eyes as she marks the warrior for revenge. In her heart, she murmurs, "Come, I want to meet you, vile enemy. You captured my lover and now torture him with a living death."

Here the singers hush their voices, and the dancers scatter to their various resting-places along the willow ring. The victor gives a reluctant last twirl of his tomahawk, then, like the others, he leaves the center ground. With head and shoulders swaying from side to side, he carries a high-pointing chin toward the willow railing. Sitting down upon the ground with crossed legs, he fans himself with an outspread turkey wing.

Here the singers quiet their voices, and the dancers scatter to their resting places along the willow ring. The victor gives his tomahawk one last, reluctant twirl. Then, like the others, he leaves the center of the ring. He walks toward the willow railing with his chin held high, swaying his head and shoulders from side to side. He sits on the ground with his legs crossed and fans himself with a spread turkey wing.

Now and then he stops his haughty blinking to peep out of the corners of his eyes. He hears some one clearing her throat gently. It is unmistakably for his ear. The wing-fan swings irregularly to and fro. At length he turns a proud face over a bare shoulder and beholds a handsome woman smiling.

Now and then, he stops blinking haughtily and glances out of the corners of his eyes. He hears someone gently clearing her throat. She is unmistakably trying to get his attention. The wing-fan swings unevenly back and forth. At last, he turns his proud face over a bare shoulder and sees a handsome woman smiling.

"Ah, she would speak to a hero!" thumps his heart wildly.

"Ah, she would speak to a hero!" His heart pounds wildly.

The singers raise their voices in unison. The music is irresistible. Again lunges the victor into the open arena. Again he leers into the captive's face. At every interval between the songs he returns to his resting-place. Here the young woman awaits him. As he approaches she smiles boldly into his eyes. He is pleased with her face and her smile.

The singers raise their voices together. The music is irresistible. Once again, the victor lunges into the open arena. Again, he leers at the captive. Between each song, he returns to his resting place, where the young woman waits for him. As he approaches, she looks boldly into his eyes and smiles. He is pleased by her face and her smile.

Waving his wing-fan spasmodically in front of his face, he sits with his ears pricked up. He catches a low whisper. A hand taps him lightly on the shoulder. The handsome woman speaks to him in his own tongue. "Come out into the night. I wish to tell you who I am."

He sits, waving his wing-fan in jerky motions in front of his face and listening closely. He hears a low whisper. A hand taps him lightly on the shoulder. The handsome woman speaks to him in his own language. "Come out into the night. I want to tell you who I am."

He must know what sweet words of praise the handsome woman has for him. With both hands he spreads the meshes of the loosely woven willows, and crawls out unnoticed into the dark.

He must know what sweet words of praise the beautiful woman has for him. With both hands, he spreads apart the loosely woven willow branches and crawls unnoticed into the dark.

Before him stands the young woman. Beckoning him with a slender hand, she steps backward, away from the light and the restless throng of onlookers. He follows with impatient strides. She quickens her pace. He lengthens his strides. Then suddenly the woman turns from him and darts away with amazing speed. Clinching his fists and biting his lower lip, the young man runs after the fleeing woman. In his maddened pursuit he forgets the dance arena.

The young woman stands before him. She beckons with a slender hand and steps back, away from the light and the restless crowd of onlookers. He follows with impatient strides. She picks up her pace. He takes longer strides. Then the woman suddenly turns away from him and darts off with amazing speed. Clenching his fists and biting his lower lip, the young man runs after her. In his frantic pursuit, he forgets the dance arena.

Beside a cluster of low bushes the woman halts. The young man, panting for breath and plunging headlong forward, whispers loud, "Pray tell me, are you a woman or an evil spirit to lure me away?"

The woman stops beside a cluster of low bushes. The young man rushes headlong forward, panting for breath. He whispers loudly, "Please tell me, are you a woman or an evil spirit trying to lure me away?"

Turning on heels firmly planted in the earth, the woman gives a wild spring forward, like a panther for its prey. In a husky voice she hissed between her teeth, "I am a Dakota woman!"

With her heels planted firmly on the ground, the woman turns and leaps forward wildly, like a panther attacking its prey. In a husky voice, she hisses through her teeth, "I am a Dakota woman!"

From her unerring long knife the enemy falls heavily at her feet. The Great Spirit heard Tusee's prayer on the hilltop. He gave her a warrior's strong heart to lessen the foe by one.

Her long knife strikes true, and the enemy falls heavily at her feet. The Great Spirit heard Tusee's prayer on the hilltop. He gave her the strong heart of a warrior so she could kill one enemy.

A bent old woman's figure, with a bundle like a grandchild slung on her back, walks round and round the dance-house. The wearied onlookers are leaving in twos and threes. The tired dancers creep out of the willow railing, and some go out at the entrance way, till the singers, too, rise from the drum and are trudging drowsily homeward. Within the arena the center fire lies broken in red embers. The night no longer lingers about the willow railing, but, hovering into the dance-house, covers here and there a snoring man whom sleep has overpowered where he sat.

A bent old woman walks around and around the dance-house, carrying a bundle on her back like a grandchild. The weary onlookers leave in twos and threes. The tired dancers creep out past the willow railing, and some leave through the entrance. At last, the singers rise from the drum and trudge sleepily home. Inside the arena, the center fire has fallen into glowing red embers. The night no longer lingers around the willow railing. It drifts into the dance-house, covering the snoring men here and there who have fallen asleep where they sat.

The captive in his tight-binding rawhide ropes hangs in hopeless despair. Close about him the gloom of night is slowly crouching. Yet the last red, crackling embers cast a faint light upon his long black hair, and, shining through the thick mats, caress his wan face with undying hope.

The captive hangs in tightly bound rawhide ropes, in hopeless despair. The darkness of night slowly closes in around him. Yet the last red, crackling embers cast a faint light on his long black hair. Shining through its thick mats, the light caresses his pale face with undying hope.

Still about the dance-house the old woman prowls. Now the embers are gray with ashes.

The old woman still prowls around the dance-house. Now the embers are gray with ash.

The old bent woman appears at the entrance way. With a cautious, groping foot she enters. Whispering between her teeth a lullaby for her sleeping child in her blanket, she searches for something forgotten.

The old, bent woman appears in the doorway. She steps inside, feeling her way carefully with her foot. She whispers a lullaby through her teeth to her child, who is sleeping in her blanket. As she whispers, she searches for something she has forgotten.

Noisily snored the dreaming men in the darkest parts. As the lisping old woman draws nigh, the captive again opens his eyes.

The dreaming men snored loudly in the darkest parts. As the old woman with a lisp comes closer, the captive opens his eyes again.

A forefinger she presses to her lip. The young man arouses himself from his stupor. His senses belie him. Before his wide-open eyes the old bent figure straightens into its youthful stature. Tusee herself is beside him. With a stroke upward and downward she severs the cruel cords with her sharp blade. Dropping her blanket from her shoulders, so that it hangs from her girdled waist like a skirt, she shakes the large bundle into a light shawl for her lover. Quickly she spreads it over his bare back.

She presses a finger to her lips. The young man rouses himself from his stupor. His senses deceive him. Before his wide-open eyes, the bent old figure straightens to her youthful height. Tusee herself is beside him. With an upward and downward stroke of her sharp blade, she cuts the cruel cords. She lets her blanket drop from her shoulders so that it hangs like a skirt from her belted waist. Then she shakes out the large bundle, revealing a light shawl for her lover. Quickly, she spreads it over his bare back.

"Come!" she whispers, and turns to go; but the young man, numb and helpless, staggers nigh to falling.

"Come!" she whispers and turns to go. But the young man, numb and helpless, staggers and nearly falls.

The sight of his weakness makes her strong. A mighty power thrills her body. Stooping beneath his outstretched arms grasping at the air for support, Tusee lifts him upon her broad shoulders. With half-running, triumphant steps she carries him away into the open night.

The sight of his weakness makes her strong. A powerful force surges through her body. His outstretched arms grasp at the air for support. Tusee ducks beneath them and lifts him onto her broad shoulders. She carries him away into the open night, almost running, her steps triumphant.