“You are right enough there, Chief,” replied the doctor heartily.
“Him you squaw?” inquired the Chief, pointing to Moira.
“Well—eh? No, not exactly,” replied the doctor, much confused, “that is—not yet I mean—”
“Huh! Him good squaw. Him good man,” replied the Chief, pointing first to Moira, then to the doctor.
Moira hurried to the tent door.
“They are all gone,” she exclaimed. “Thank God! How awful they are!”
“Huh!” replied the Chief, moving out past her. “Him drink, him crazee—no drink, no crazee.” At the door he paused, and, looking back, said once more with increased emphasis, “Huh! Him good squaw,” and finally disappeared.
“By Jove!” said the doctor with a delighted chuckle. “The old boy is a man of some discernment I can see. But the kid and you saved the day, Miss Moira.”
“Oh, what nonsense you are talking. It was truly awful, and how splendidly you—you—”
“Well, I caught him rather a neat one, I confess. I wonder if the brute is sleeping yet. But you did the trick finally, Miss Moira.”