“That is true,” returned Nootka, as if pleased to think of something solid, round which her affections might entwine; “but we stay such a short time there—only while the hot sun-time lasts, and I have not time to get very fond of it—not so as to make my eyes open and my cheeks grow red like yours.”
“Then you must come and live with me and love my country,” said the Indian girl in a patronising tone.
“What! and forsake Oolalik?” exclaimed the Eskimo maiden, with heightened colour and flashing eyes. “No, never. He will not melt, what ever else does.”
“Right, Nootka,” exclaimed Adolay, with a laugh. “It would take a very hot sun indeed to melt Oolalik. But perhaps the whole tribe will stay in my country. I think that Cheenbuk will get us over this difficulty. It is wonderful what can be done by a man with a determined mind like Cheenbuk.”
“Yes, some of us Eskimos have very determined minds,” said Nootka, complacently.
Adolay laughed lightly. “And don’t you think that some of the Fire-spouters have also a good deal of determination—especially one of them who left the lodges of his people and wandered over the great salt lake all alone in search of his child?”
“You speak truth,” returned Nootka, with a pleasant nod. “I’ll tell you what I think: both our nations are very determined—very.”
Having come to this satisfactory conclusion, the maidens relapsed into general conversation.
But a disappointment was in store which none of the party had counted on.
When the village of the Fire-spouters was reached, not a soul was to be seen. The tent-poles remained, and the ashes of the hearths were still there; but the ashes were cold, and not a man, woman, or child remained—not even a dog.