“Fire-spouters!” exclaimed Cheenbuk, on hearing the shots of the traders’ guns.
“Yes—my countrymen,” replied Nazinred.
The kayak of Cheenbuk was about half a length behind the canoe, else the Eskimo would have seen that though the Indian’s voice was low and calm, his black eyes glittered with excitement.
“It is not like the gun of the Dogribs,” remarked Adolay, glancing back at her father.
“Why does Adolay think so?”
“Because there is too much noise. You have yourself told me, father, that the Indian uses a smaller charge both of powder and shot than the white trader, as he cannot afford to waste it. I never heard the guns of our men speak so loud. Perhaps we are going to meet white men.”
The chief regarded his daughter with a pleased smile and a look of pride.
“Adolay observes well,” he said; “she is like her mother. The sound was loud because the charges were big—also because two guns were fired at once.”
“I heard only one,” returned the girl.
“That is because you have not heard much firing of guns. Adolay is not yet as old as her father. The traders from the great fresh lake must have come to our land, and that is the reason why our people have forsaken the old home.”