Golden Face: A Tale of the Wild WestMitford, Bertram
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Golden Face: A Tale of the Wild West
Mitford, Bertram
Dakota Indians -- Fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction
Often in her dreams she again goes through those terrible experiences--
the perilous flight with the scout across the rugged ranges, momentarily
expecting the volley of the lurking Sioux ambushed in the dense timber.
Often in her dreams she is once more fleeing for dear life across those
wild plains, the war-whoops of the painted fiends ringing in her ears,
the thunder of their pursuing steeds shaking the ground. Often in her
dreams she is again entering the frowning portals of that dread
Thermopylae, where one man had unhesitatingly laid down his life in
order that she might reach a place of safety. Often, too, she is once
more amid her genial, kindly, travelling companions, only to wake up
with a start and a shiver to the remembrance of their horrible fate.
But never as long as she lives will she forget the moment when her
brother, finding her out at Fort Vigilance, brought the news which had
confirmed her fears to the uttermost. He who had offered his life for
her was dead--dead amid the horrid torments of the Indian stake, as the
savages themselves affirmed--and to her, thenceforward, life seemed a
grey and valueless thing. There was nothing further to be gained by
opposing her brother's wish that she should at once accompany him home
to Lant-Hanger. Travelling through the British possessions safe beyond
the reach of the hostile Sioux, who still carried terror and pillage
over the plains of Dakota and Wyoming, they had set forth on their
journey and had reached home in due course.
Shocked out of even his philosophy by the change, nothing could exceed
the affectionate consideration her father had show for her since her
return. Even her mother forgot to grumble and scold in her relief at
having the girl back again safe and sound, for George had judiciously
put them up to the real state of affairs. It was not in the nature of
things that her parents should be well pleased that she had buried her
heart in the grave of an unknown adventurer, who had, moreover, met with
a horrible death, but time, they hoped, would work a gradual cure, and
she was young yet. Then, too, apart from this unfortunate affair, her
experiences had been terrible for a refined and luxuriously-nurtured
English girl. So no care or trouble was spared to induce her to forget
them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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