As Faith looked at him she was sure that this creature had dragged Kashaqua off into the woods, and that he might turn and seize her as soon as he had finished with the basket.
“Kashaqua! Kashaqua!” she called hopelessly. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”
There was a rustle of leaves close behind her and the Indian woman darted into the clearing. Without a word to Faith she ran straight to where the bear was crouched over the basket. Faith could hardly believe what she saw, for Kashaqua had seized the basket and pushed it out of the bear’s reach, and was now belaboring him with a stout piece of wood that she had seized from the pile by the shelter. As she hit the bear she called out strange words in the Indian tongue, whose meaning Faith could not imagine, but which the bear seemed to understand. The creature accepted the blows with a queer little whimper which made Faith laugh in spite of her fear. And when Kashaqua had quite finished with him he crept along beside her, looking up as if pleading for forgiveness.
“Oh, Kashaqua! Is it the bear that your papooses tamed?” exclaimed Faith, remembering the story told her on the way.
Kashaqua nodded, at the same time muttering words of reproach to the bear.
“He like bad Indian, steal from friends,” she explained to Faith. “His name Nooski,” she added.
Nooski was quite ready to make friends with Faith, but she was not yet sure of his good-nature. It seemed to the little girl that the bear understood every word Kashaqua uttered; and when they went on their way down the trail Nooski followed, or kept close beside them.
It was still early in the afternoon when they reached level ground and Faith had her first glimpse of the blue waters of Lake Champlain and saw the heights of Ticonderoga on the opposite shore. For a moment she forgot Nooski and Kashaqua, and stood looking at the sparkling waters and listening to the same sound of “Chiming Waters” that had made the early French settlers call the place “Carillon.” She wondered if she should ever see the inside of the fort of which she had heard so much, and then heard Kashaqua calling her name.
“Canoe all ready, Faith.” The Indian woman had drawn the birch-bark canoe from its hiding-place in the underbrush, and the light craft now rested on the waters of the lake. The baskets and bundles were in the canoe, and Kashaqua, paddle in hand, stood waiting for her little companion.
“Where’s Nooski?” asked Faith, looking about for the young bear.