“Hold her till I tie up her hands,” she said, drawing a stout line of deerskin from a pocket in the breast of her dress.
With this she proceeded to bind her inquisitive friend’s wrists. Perceiving that she was to be made a captive, the girl opened her mouth and began a shriek, which, had it been allowed full play, would no doubt have reached her friends in the village, but Cheenbuk had observed the intention, and before the first note had struggled into being, he clapped his hand on her mouth and quenched it. Idazoo wore round her neck a brightly coloured cotton kerchief, such as the fur-traders of those days furnished for barter with the Indians. Cheenbuk quietly plucked this off her neck and tied it firmly round her face and mouth so as to effectually gag her. This done they fastened her to the stem of the dead tree.
The whole operation was performed without unnecessary rudeness, and with great celerity.
“Now, Idazoo,” said Adolay, when they had finished, “you have done me great injury this night. I am sorry to treat you in this way, but I cannot help it. You would come with me, you know. If I could trust you even now, I would take the cloth off your mouth, but I dare not, you might yell, and everybody knows you were never good at keeping your promises. But it does not matter much. The handkerchief is not too tight to prevent the air getting up your nose—and it will give your tongue a rest, which it needs. Besides, the night is not cold, and as our braves pass here every morning when starting off to hunt, you will soon be set free.”
The Eskimo showed all his brilliant teeth from ear to ear while this little speech was being made. Then he accompanied Adolay through the bush until they reached the shores of a small lake, beside which a birch-bark canoe was lying, partly in the water. At an earlier part of that evening the girl had placed the canoe there, and put into it weapons and provisions suitable for a considerable voyage.
“You have got this ready for me?” said Cheenbuk.
“Yes. You saved my mother’s life once, and I will save yours,” replied the girl, pointing to the bow of the canoe as if ordering him to embark.
“Are you going with me?” asked the youth, with a look of hopeful surprise and a very slight flutter of the heart.
“You do not know the lake. I will guide you to the place where the little river runs out of it, and then, by following that, you will get into Greygoose River, which I think you know.”
The Eskimo’s heart ceased to flutter, and the hope died out of his expressive eyes as he said, still hesitating, “But—but—I am very heavy and you are very light. A canoe does not go well with its head deep in the water. Don’t you think that I should sit behind and steer?”