To the left of the entrance crouched a young Indian woman. She was an
unusually good-looking specimen of the desert tribes: a tall well-shaped
form; a head and face of much beauty and character, with a pair of eyes
that, at first glance, betrayed a close relation to the woman lying on
the bed. They were of the same size, color and brilliance; but the
tense, powerful expression that was seen in those of the aged woman,
here was softened to a mild, yet piercing glance, which had, at the same
time, a touch of sadness. She appeared to be not more than twenty-five
years old, although her face, in spite of its gentle, youthful
expression, showed the traces of more than her full quota of hardships;
for the life of the desert Indian is never an easy one at the best, and
here had been a greater struggle for existence than is usual among the
aborigines. As she crouched by the doorway, she seemed almost as
lifeless as the old Indian woman on the bed, her gaze fixed absently on
the extended view of plain and mountain stretching out before her, the
only sign of life being the slow, even rise and fall of her bosom with
each succeeding breath.
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