A Fight; A Capture; And the Guardian Swan

Annette with a tear in the corner of each eye, and Julie at her
side, rode on till the two came within sight of the shining waters of
the indolent Saskatchewan. As they rode leisurely along its banks,
Annette, now sighing and now Julie, they heard the trample of hoofs,
and turning saw approaching an Indian chief, well mounted.

"Ah, your chef, ma petite," Annette said, looking at Julie.

But Julie was well aware who the fast riding stranger was; and she
was covered with the most becoming of blushes when her lover drew
rein beside them.

"No time; Indians in pursuit of you. I said I would come ahead of
braves to keep watch upon your movements. Ride to the south, and
unless you find good bluffs to the east, don't rest till you reach
Souris." And he was about to go; but Julie, who had quietly managed
to so work her left heel as to make her horse perform a right pass
till its side touched that of the chief's pony, turned towards him,
her face having the expression of a large note of interrogation,
which if put in words would say, Are you going away without giving
your Julie a kiss? while her lips would remind you of the half-opened
rose that awaits the hovering shower.

The chief may have interpreted the mute and delicious appeal, but he
was too full of alarm to accept the invitation, even though he could
have conquered his sense of delicacy enough to do it before Annette.