“Ay, all well. It is many day since we left. The way is very rough, and we did not find much deer. We saw one camp of Indian, but they ’fraid to come. I not know why. But I see with them one fair flower which grow in the fields of the Esquimaux. I suppose the Indian pluck her, and dare not come back here.”
Stanley started, and his cheek grew pale.
“A fair flower, say you? Speak literally, man: was it a little white girl that you saw?”
“No,” replied the Indian, “it was no white girl we saw. It was one young Esquimau woman.”
Stanley heaved a deep sigh and turned away, muttering, “Ah! I might have known that she could not have fallen into the hands of Indians so far to the south.”
“Well, lads, take care of these fellows,” he cried, crushing down the feelings that had been for a brief moment awakened in his heart by the Indian’s words, “and give them plenty to eat and smoke.” So saying he went off with the packet, followed by Frank.
“Niver fear ye; come along, honey,” said Bryan, grasping the elder Indian by the arm, while the younger was carried off by Massan, and the dogs taken care of by Ma-istequan and Gaspard.
On perusing the letters, Stanley found that it would be absolutely necessary to send a packet of dispatches to headquarters. The difficulties of his position required to be more thoroughly explained, and erroneous notions corrected.
“What shall I do, Frank?” said he, with a perplexed look. “These Indians cannot return to Moose, having received orders, I find, to journey in a different direction. Our own men know the way, but I cannot spare the good ones among them, and the second-rate cannot be depended on without a leader.”
Frank did not give an immediate reply. He seemed to be pondering the subject in his mind. At length he said, “Could not Dick Prince be spared?”