Sorrows and Sins, and a Bold Adventure.
It was autumn before Nazinred and Mozwa drew near to their village. They took things leisurely on the return voyage, for, as Indians have little else to do besides hunt, trap, fish, eat, and sleep, they have no particular inducement to hurry their movements.
It is true that, being affectionate men, they were naturally anxious to rejoin their families, but being also steady-going, with considerable powers of self-denial, they were good men-of-business, from a savage point of view, and gave leisurely attention to the duties in hand.
On arriving at the outskirts of their village, they were surprised to see that one or two children who were playing among the bushes, and who could not have failed to see them, slunk away as if to avoid a meeting. Whatever anxiety the men might have felt, their bronzed and stern countenances betrayed no sign whatever. Landing near the old chief’s hut, they drew up their canoe and Nazinred and Mozwa went to announce their arrival. It was contrary to Indian etiquette to betray excitement, or to ask hasty questions.
They saluted the old man, handed him a plug of tobacco, and sat down to smoke, and it was not till some time had elapsed that Nazinred calmly asked if Isquay was well.
“Isquay is well,” replied the old chief, and a barely perceptible sigh of relief escaped Nazinred.
Then Mozwa asked about his wife and received a satisfactory answer. Still, it was obvious to both men, from the old chief’s manner, that there was something wrong.
“Adolay”, said the old man, and stopped.
“Dead?” asked Nazinred, with a look of alarm that he did not attempt to conceal.
“No, not dead—but gone away,” he replied, and then related in detail the circumstances of the girl’s disappearance. It must have been a terrible blow to the poor father, all the more that he was ignorant at the time of the girl’s motive for forsaking her home. But no vestige of feeling did he betray, save a slight contraction of his brows and a nervous play of his fingers about the handle of his scalping-knife. When the recital was ended he made no reply, but, rising slowly, left the hut and went to his own home.