Both were asking, "What was the good?"
"She is one of your own people," urged Louison. "We came to tell you."
This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was not all he wanted, but he was forced to trust it to Louison, although he was uneasy.
He could see plainly enough an Indian would be far more likely to find her than himself, but would they? Would any of them go?
Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old chief and the young, by way of good-fellowship.
"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred growing desperate again. He had but one thing about him he could offer as an inducement, and that was his knife. He hesitated a moment. He thought of Pe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to the young chieftain.
The dusky fingers gripped the handle.
"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or give her food and build up her hut?" asked Wilfred, making his meaning as plain as he could, by the help of nods and looks and signs.
The young chief was outside the man-hole in another moment. He slung his quiver to his belt and took down his bow, flung a stout blanket over his shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco, the usual name for the Canadian horse. The kettle was in his hand.
"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left the camp by Louison's side.