Here all by this time was tense excitement, the dramatic, ungoverned
excitement of children. While with shrill cries two or three of the
women gathered the little ones together, the rest pulled frantically at
the poles holding each tepee in place. Still apparently quite unmoved,
Wildenai sought first her father standing surprised but unafraid in the
doorway of his lodge. Tall and spare and stern he looked, straight as
some lonely pine on the slopes of distant San Jacinto. Yet even in the
stress of such a moment a tender light stole into his eyes as they
rested upon his motherless daughter.
Wildenai made obeisance and for a brief moment the two surveyed each
other in silence. Then,
"It is well thou art come, my beloved one," spoke the chief. "Stranger
pale-faces will soon be amongst us."
"Wildenai feels no fear, my father," quietly answered the girl.
"If they come in friendship," quickly Torquam replied, "then indeed may
all be well. But the ship is not of the Senor's fleet, and if so be that
we must fight, thou wert better hidden in the cave. We shall see."
Bending her head in mute acquiescence the girl moved away to join the
group of women now almost ready to depart.
Meantime the vessel's long boat, driven onward by the stout arms of
three strong sailors, steadily approached the bay.
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