“You’re welcome to our shack,” he said, in Cree.
The woman shook her beautiful head, but smiled upon him; and the simple soul felt the blood rush from heart to head.
“Try signs,” said Nick impatiently. “How’s the White Squaw o’ the Moosefoots goin’ to savvee a low-down bat like Cree. I sed so ’fore.”
The blue eyes were turned on Nick with a deep inscrutable smile. Nick felt that life at her feet was the only life possible.
And Ralph resorted to signs, while Nick alternated his attention between his idolatrous, silent worship of the lovely woman and clubbing his dogs into quiescence. Their angry protests seemed to express something more abiding than mere displeasure at the intrusion of a stranger. They seemed to feel a strong instinctive antagonism toward this beautiful woman.
Ralph persisted with his signs. The woman read them easily and replied in her own sign-language, which was wonderful to behold. Ralph and Nick read it as though they were listening to a familiar tongue.
She told them that she was Aim-sa, which is the Moosefoot for “Blue-Sky”; and that she was the White Squaw, the queen of her people. She indicated that she was out on a “long trail” hunting, and that she had found herself in this valley, with a snow-storm coming on. She had seen the dugout and had sought its shelter, intending to remain there until the storm had passed. She made it clear to them that a bull moose and four cows had entered the valley. She had trailed them for many days. She asked the brothers if, when the storm had passed, they would join her in the hunt.
And to all she said Ralph replied in his less perfect signs, prompted by Nick with blundering impetuosity; and, at the end of the parley, a perfect harmony prevailed. Two great rough men, with hearts as simple and trusting as those of infants, led this stranger into their home, and made it clear that the place was hers for so long as she chose to accept their hospitality.
A fire was kindled. A meal was cooked. The hut grew warm and comforting. The dogs outside yelped pitifully and often snuffed angrily at the sill of the door. And the White Squaw calmly accepted the throne of that silent world, which had so long known only the joint rule of the two brothers. She looked out upon her subjects with eyes which drove them wild with adoration, but which said nothing but that which she chose to convey. Nor did her features betray one single thought that might chance to be passing in the brain behind. She wore an impenetrable mask of reserve while she watched the effect of the womanly power she wielded.
And that night saw a change in the ordering of the trappers’ household. The two men talked it over after their meal. Ralph broached the subject.