'The white chief will listen to his servant? For his heart bids him speak, and there is much to say.'
Lamont had started violently and turned pale, when the words 'white chief,' spoken in a tongue unpleasantly familiar, smote upon his ear. Then he repeated his question.
The Indian made a strange answer,—
'Is not this land lonely and vast to the white man? See how the black boat rides upon the waters. In he you may sail away, along the mighty river, and out upon the Great Water.[1] So you shall come to the cities of the plain, and be again among the tents of your own people. Also, you will leave to the Indian the little he may now call his own. Then the peaceful air will lie like a bird in the sail, while the men's muscles will swell with rowing. The boat will leap over laughing waters and flit home, as the muskawk to its lair when the sun dies. In your own tents you may find happiness, and a white bride, whose face shall be as the blush of early morning.
'And I—I also shall know the beauty of life. For I may live beneath the sunshine of Menotah's smiles.'
[1] Lake Winnipeg.
CHAPTER III
THE RIVALS
Ignoring the presence of his rival, Lamont passed aside and entered the scrub bush which fringed the odorous forest. But, noiseless and agile as the overhead chipmunk, Muskwah followed in his track, scarce ever ceasing from his melodious and heartfelt appeal. Since he played the part of suppliant, he argued with his opponent without heat, though passion might not be denied. He invoked the higher sense of right. Surely only the Indian was fit mate for the Indian. Where would be the 'heart of joy' when the brain had been touched by fancy, the mind spoilt in imagination? Love was the choicest gift of the Heelhi-Manitou, a thing not to be lightly taken, and never to be cast aside as worthless. In such manner he pleaded, with all the native picturesque imagery of word expression and imagination.