This was all that the Indian would condescend to say. The motives which had decided him to return good for evil were too hazy and complex for him clearly to understand, much less explain. He took refuge, therefore, in dignified silence.
Victor was too happy in the recovery of his brother to push the investigation further, or to cherish feelings of ill-will. He therefore went up to the Indian, and, with a smile of candour on his face, held out his hand, which the latter grasped and shook, exclaiming “Wat-chee!” under the belief that these words formed an essential part of every white man’s salutation.
This matter had barely been settled when a man came out of the woods and approached them. He was one of the Red River settlers, but personally unknown to any of them. From him they heard of the condition of the settlement. Of course they asked many eager questions about their own kindred after he had mentioned the chief points of the disastrous flood.
“And what of my father, Samuel Ravenshaw?” asked Victor anxiously.
“What! the old man at Willow Creek, whose daughter is married to Lambert?”
“Married to Lambert!” exclaimed Ian, turning deadly pale.
“Ay, or engaged to be, I’m not sure which,” replied the man. “Oh, he’s all right. The Willow Creek house stands too high to be washed away. The family still lives in it—in the upper rooms.”
“And Angus Macdonald, what of him?” asked Ian.
“An’ ma mère—my moder, ole Liz Rollin, an’ ole Daddy, has you hear of dem?” demanded Rollin.
At the mention of old Liz the man’s face became grave.