"You are the white doctor?" the old man suddenly exclaimed, with a look of extraordinary anxiety.
"I am," said Ralph.
The old man's head dropped on his breast, and a little sound of distress escaped him. He murmured in his own tongue.
"What's the matter?" cried Ralph irritably. "Why shouldn't I come here if I want to take a walk? Do you think I'll bring a plague with me?"
The old man raised an inscrutably sad face. He shrugged. "I not talk," he said. "Got no good words, me. Nahnya will talk. Nahnya is the chief here. She come soon, I think."
"What does it all mean, anyway?" cried Ralph.
"Will you eat?" inquired the old man with his courteous, reticent air. "I sorry I forget before. We have moose-meat."
Ralph was conscious of receiving a rebuke.
"I'm not hungry," he muttered, turning away.
His imperious curiosity soon brought him back. The old man stood as he had left him. "Has this place got a name?" asked Ralph.