He was standing in the great gateway considering these things when An-ina came to him. She appeared abruptly over the top of the great snow-drift, which had been driven against the angle of the stockade. The soft "pad" of her moccasined feet first drew his attention, and immediately all thought of the coming storm passed from his mind.
"Him big chief wake all up," she announced urgently, as she reached his side.
"Did you speak to him?"
The man's enquiry was sharpened by responsive eagerness. The squaw nodded.
"An-ina say, 'Boss white man officer come mak big talk with big chief, Wanak-aha. Him look for dead white man by the big water. Yes.' Him big chief say, 'White man officer? Him not know this man. Who?' An-ina say much—plenty. Big chief all go mad. Oh, much angry. Then An-ina mak big talk plenty. She say, 'Big Chief not mak big talk, then boss white man officer of Great White Chief come kill up all Indian man.' Big chief very old. Him all 'fraid. Him shake all over like so as seal fat. Much scare. Oh, yes." She laughed in her silent fashion. "So him say, 'Boss white man officer come, then Big Chief Wanak-aha mak plenty big talk.' Then him sleep. Oh, yes."
The woman's amusement at the chief's panic was infectious. Steve smiled.
"I guess we'll go right along," he said. Then he indicated the moon with its misty halo. "Storm."
Again An-ina nodded.
"Him storm plenty—sure," she agreed. "Boss come quick?"
"Right away."