Marna by Norah Hess

desperately. He loved
her wildness, her stubborn spirit that stood up to him,
but most of all her decency and sweetness.
    "Dear God," he prayed, "let her be alive."
    He knelt beside her and turned her over tenderly.
When she smiled up at him, he gathered her into his
arms and held her tight in thanksgiving.
    He stood up with her and Caleb jumped to help him.
But the cold, warning light in Matt's eyes made the
hunter drop his arms and walk along beside him.
    Inside the cabin Matt laid Marna carefully on his
own bed. Now that it was too late, through his own
fault, he realized she had belonged there all the time. He turned to the white-faced Caleb and wanted to
shout, "Get the hell out of here. She is mine and you
have no right here." Instead he rasped out, "Go get
Hertha. Tell her what has happened so she'll know
what to bring."

    Caleb nodded and raced from the room.
    Matt placed his hand on Marna's forehead. She was
hot and dry to his touch. Already fever had set in. He
called her name softly, but she only rolled her head
back and forth, moaning.
    I must get her out of these clothes and look at her
wounds, he thought.
    Rising, he moved to the table to fill a kettle with
water. Only the dipper lay there, seeming to accuse
him. He knew then why Marna had left the cabin. She
had gone to the spring for water, and the cat, lured by
the scent of the fresh kill, had attacked her in its hunger.
    Matt's great frame was bowed with grief and guilt. If
he'd behaved as a decent husband should, the pail
wouldn't have been empty, and his wife wouldn't be
lying there now with her leg chewed up.
    He stepped out on the porch, then stopped. Waiting
in front of the cabin was a silent, sober gathering of his
men. Each hunter there, with the exception of Corey,
had developed a deep respect and liking for the strange,
woods queer girl. They had sensed her innocence, and
now they wanted to help her.
    Henry stepped away from the group and asked anxiously, "Is the little one all right, Matt? Is she alive?"
    Matt raked trembling fingers through his hair. "Just
barely, Henry. She's losing a lot of blood." He stepped
to the edge of the porch. "Would you bring me some
water? I think you'll find the pail over by the spring."
    Henry nodded and left in a run.
    As Matt was about to reenter the cabin, his attention
was caught by Corey's squaw hiding in the shadows.
Her face shone pale as she leaned against the wall.
"What do you want?" he snapped gruffly.

    "Please," the girl whispered, "I would like to help
you with your wife. I used to help my mother tend the
sick in our camp."
    Relieved to have some help, Matt pushed open the
door and said, "Go on in."
    Dove knelt by Marna and carefully lifted one of her
eyelids. She nodded her head and murmured, "She is
only unconscious. Will you hand me your knife,
please?"
    Matt looked at her suspiciously. "What are you
gonna do with it?"
    Dove smiled. "Don't worry. I wouldn't hurt this one.
Her grandmother saved my father's life when he was a
young man. I am only going to cut away her clothes."
    Swiftly and carefully she slit the seams of the shirt
and pants. Slowly she laid them away from Marna's
body. Even in his all-consuming worry, Matt gasped at
the beauty laid bare before him. This time it was unlike
that night Corey had attacked her. That time he had
been half blinded by his anger and seen only portions of
her body in the semi-darkness of the room. But now
every plane and curve was clearly visible in the moonlight streaming through the window.
    "Is she not beautiful?" Dove asked slowly.
    Matt could only nod his head.
    The squaw brushed the tangled hair back from the
dirt-smeared face, then looked up at Matt. "Do you
know that her face is as beautiful as her body?"
    At his surprised look she nodded her head and continued, "Yes, it is true. Old Hertha keeps her beauty
hid. She does not trust her husband or the hill men."
    "How do you know all this? How can you