Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1914-Jan 1915)

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30 MOTION PICTURE MAGAZINE "HOW MUCH FOR YOUR SQUAW? Shooting Star looked at the woman' and knew that she was as lovely as the dawn. So he bowed gravely and went away, back to his tents, his warriors and his herds. For, my brothers, the red man does not know the meaning of the white man's laughter, nor ever shall till red and white are one with the dust of the plain. "I have brought the ponies. Give me the woman," said Shooting Star. He pointed toward the corral on the edge of the town, crowded now with shaggy, heaving flanks. The doctor stared. The white-cheeked Cecilie turned her sky-eyes first upon the corral; then, in growing amusement, upon the red man, waiting stolidly for his prize. "He thought you were in earnest, " she cried out. ' ' Oh, poor man ! Dont laugh so, George. See, you're making him angry." How angry, she could not guess. For the wrath of the white man is noisy, like the clatter of hailstones or the sputter of his own gun. But an Indian's rage is as silent and deadly as the arrow seeking the heart. "Let me go! Let me " The swift mustangs cut the wind. The beating of her frail, white hands is as impotent as a butterfly's fluttering. Behind — farther and farther b e h i n d — the doctor plods on his thankless rounds. His wife is not with him; she has mounted her horse for a ride in the open — and on the far horizon the merciless hoofs beating faintly, and still more faintly, till sounds and sight are lost in the blue that bounds Apache land. In the tent crouched the woman, eyes dull with horror. Beyond, thru the flap, a sight more terrible than her worse nightmare dream flickered before her unsure gaze. Like demons the figures leaped and danced to the barbaric yells and screams of the women — the wedding dance — to her the dance of death. Before her the girl knelt, knife in hand, an unwilling custodian at the command of her father. She spoke no words, yet her brain worked swift and sure. Suddenly, with the lithe ease of a panther, she dipped out of sight of the dancers, slit the side of the teepee farthest from the flap with one murderous sweep of the scalping-blade, and beckoned over her shoulder. Wild hope swept like a warm wave of strength thru the captive's veins. For, my brothers, a woman can pass from despair to joy in the twinkling of an adder's eye. She followed where the red maid led, and behold! before her, freedom ; behind, dishonor and danger. The horses, tethered to the willow's sweep, started to prance and whinny, but Natoma laid a hand above their nostrils and held them while the white woman mounted. A flash of small, hard hoofs, a cloud of dust Shooting Star, hideous in his wedding panoply, turned from the dance and crossed to the teepee where his captive, the strange, white woman of