At the beginning of this talk Clare had gone inside to escape the piercing stares. While he talked, Ahchoogah was continually trying to peer around Stonor to get a glimpse of her. When the diplomatic formalities were over, he said (according to Mary):
“I not know you got white wife. Nobody tell me that. She is very pretty.”
“Tell him she is not my wife,” said Stonor, with a portentous scowl to hide his blushes. “Tell him—Oh, the devil! he wouldn’t understand. Tell him her name is Miss Clare Starling.”
“What she come for?” Ahchoogah coolly asked.
“Tell him she travels to please herself,” said Stonor, letting him make what he would of that.
“Ahchoogah say he want shake her by the hand.”
Stonor was in a quandary. The thought of the grimy hand touching Clare’s was detestable yet, if the request had been made in innocence it seemed churlish to object. Clare, who overheard, settled the question for him, by coming out and offering her hand to the Indian with a smile.
To Mary she said: “Tell him to tell the women of his people that the white woman wishes to be their sister.”
Ahchoogah stared at her with a queer mixture of feelings. He was much taken aback by her outspoken, unafraid air. He had expected to despise her, as he had been taught to despise all women, but somehow she struck respect into his soul. He resented it: he had taken pleasure in the prospect of despising something white.
Clare went back into the shack. Ahchoogah, with a shrug, dismissed her from his mind. He spoke again with his courteous air; meanwhile (or at any rate so Stonor thought) his black eyes glittered with hostility.