She knew now the shock that she had suffered and that
this was the reaction. Tomorrow it might be different, but something
told her that never again would her little shelter and the patch
of forest and jungle that she called her own be the same. There
would hang over them always the menace of this man. No longer would
she pass restful nights of deep slumber. The peace of her little
world was shattered forever.
That night she made her door doubly secure with additional thongs
of rawhide cut from the pelt of the buck she had slain the day that
she met Obergatz. She was very tired for she had lost much sleep
the night before; but for a long time she lay with wide-open eyes
staring into the darkness. What saw she there? Visions that brought
tears to those brave and beautiful eyes--visions of a rambling
bungalow that had been home to her and that was no more, destroyed
by the same cruel force that haunted her even now in this remote,
uncharted corner of the earth; visions of a strong man whose protecting
arm would never press her close again; visions of a tall, straight
son who looked at her adoringly out of brave, smiling eyes that were
like his father's. Always the vision of the crude simple bungalow
rather than of the stately halls that had been as much a part of
her life as the other.
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