Silence reigned at first. When the Indian had finished eating he accepted a draught of warm water, and then had recourse to his fire-bag and pipe. Cheenbuk expected this, and smiled inwardly, though his outward visage would have done credit to an owl.
At last he looked up and asked the Indian how he came to be travelling thus alone and so far from his native land.
Nazinred puffed a voluminous cloud from his lips and two streaming cloudlets from his nose ere he replied.
“When my son,” he said, “was on the banks of the Greygoose River his voice was not so deep!”
Cheenbuk burst into a laugh and threw back his hood.
“You know me, then, you man-of-the-woods,” said he, holding out his hand in the white trader fashion which the other had taught him.
“When the men-of-the-woods see a face once, they never forget it,” returned the Indian, grasping the proffered hand heartily, but without a sign of risibility on his countenance, for in this, as we know, he differed considerably from his companion; yet there was a something about the corners of his eyes which seemed to indicate that he was not quite devoid of humour.
“But how did you discover me?” resumed Cheenbuk. “I not only spoke with a deeper voice, but I put black and oil on my face, and pulled my hood well forward.”
“When the Eskimo wants to blind the man-of-the-woods,” answered Nazinred, sententiously, “he must remember that he is a man, not a child. The cry of the grey geese is always the same, though some of them have deeper voices than others. A face does not change its shape because it is dirtied with oil and black. Men draw hoods over their faces when going out of a lodge, not when coming in. When smoking tobacco is seen for the first time, surprise is always created.—Waugh!”
“What you say is true, man-of-the-woods,” returned Cheenbuk, smiling. “I am not equal to you at deceiving.”