"The white men will break in to-morrow!" wailed St. Jean.
"The white men will never come in—this way," said Nahnya from between firm lips. "I will fix that."
The tears coursed down St. Jean's withered cheeks; he stroked Nahnya's hand imploringly. "I am old!" he whimpered.
"You are wise!" said Nahnya. "Add your wisdom to Charley's strength, and make him a man. He will be the head man when you are gone. Make him know all the tales of our people, and all that they knew how to do, so nothing is forgotten. Nobody mus' know but you that I not come back. Let them look for me while the summer passes. By and by you can say you have a feeling I am dead. The young ones will forget!"
The old man moaned, and letting his head fall on his breast, wound his gnarled fingers in his sparse locks.
"The boys will see you," Nahnya said sharply. "It is from you they learn how to bear pain!"
After a brief struggle with himself he lifted his head. The tears had ceased to flow, and the seamed face was composed into the ancient stoic mask of the race; the old hands still trembled piteously, and groped for Nahnya's hand.
"So much we talk together," she went on, "you know all that is in my mind. When the spring come again, and the sap run in the trees, it is time for the children to marry. You shall marry them with a cross. My mot'er mus' teach Ahahweh all there is to do when the time come for the girls to bear children.
"No man will ever come in or go out this way," Nahnya continued. "If ever there is a famine, or you have great need to go out, there is another way. Go across the divide into the valley to the north, and at the top of that valley is a little stream going out between the mountains. After many days' hard travel it will bring you to the Stanley River. You mus' not tell Charley of this way until he is wise, or until you feel yourself about to die. The knowledge of this way mus' be kept. Many years from now more wives will be needed for the young men. The children of brothers and sisters must not marry. Their children will not be strong."
"All shall be done as you say," murmured St. Jean Bateese.