Lords of the North

by Agnes C. Laut

An affirmative grunt.

"Le Grand Diable—did you see him?"

At that name, his white teeth snapped shut, and from the depths of the Indian's throat came the vicious snarl of an enraged wolf.

"Come," I coaxed, "tell me. How long since you left the Sioux?"

"Walkee—walkee—walkee—one sleep," and rising, he enacted a hobbling gait across the cabin in unison with the rhythmic utterance of his words.

"Walkee—walkee—walkee—one."

"Traveled at night!" I interrupted. "Two nights! You couldn't do it in two nights!"

"Walkee—walkee—walkee—one sleep," he repeated.

"Three nights!"

Four times he hobbled across the floor, which meant he had come afoot the whole distance, traveling only at night.