“No,” answered the Indian. “He perished in attempting to save his wife from a dangerous rapid. He brought her to the bank close to the head of a great waterfall, and many hands were stretched out to grasp her. She was saved, but the strength of the brave pale-face was gone, and we knew it not. Before we could lay hold of his hand the current swept him away and carried him over the falls.”
“How sad!” said Lumley. “What was the name of this white man?”
“He told us that his name was Weeum—but,” said the Indian, turning abruptly to Waboose, whose countenance betrayed feelings which were obviously aroused by other matters than this reference to her lost father, “my child has news of some sort. Let her speak.”
Thus permitted, Waboose opened her lips for the first time—disclosing a double row of bright little teeth in the act—and said that she had been sent by her mother in search of Maqua and his son, as she had reason to believe that the camp was in danger of being attacked by Dogrib Indians.
On hearing this, Maqua and Mozwa rose, picked up their weapons, and without a word of explanation entered the bushes swiftly and disappeared.
Big Otter looked after them for a moment or two in grave silence.
“You had better follow them,” suggested Lumley. “If you should require help, send a swift messenger back and we will come to you.”
The Indian received this with a quiet inclination of the head, but made no reply. Then, taking his niece by the hand, he led her into the bushes where his relatives had entered and, like them, disappeared.
“It seems like a dream,” said I to Lumley, as we all sat down again to our steaks and marrow-bones.
“What seems like a dream, Max—the grub?”