One of the young ladies seemed much interested and made
many inquiries. A bow and quiver was given into her hand. The latter
was fashioned from the skin of a Mexican tiger, and was filled with
arrows. One of these was bloody, and its history was asked of the youth
she had met in the store. It was the blood of a Pawnee chief who, by
this arrow, had been slain in battle, and was the gift to the youth
from the daughter of the fallen chief, together with the bow and quiver
of the Indian who had slain her father, and who was in turn killed by a
chief of her tribe.
How beautiful she was to this wanderer of the wilderness! Months upon
months had passed away, and he had only looked upon the blank and
unmeaning features of the desert savage woman. With these his heart had
no sympathy. Like the panther of their plains they were swift of foot,
symmetrical in form, wild, untamed and untamable, fierce and unfeeling;
and were not formed by nature for sympathy or social union with the
higher organizations of civilized man. His dream of romance was being
realized. The vacuum in his heart was filling.
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