"May I not aid?"
"You could not if you would; you would not if you could."
"Ask me, Lois."
"No." She shook her head. Then, slowly: "I do thank you for the wish, Mr. Loskiel. But the Siwanois himself refuses what I ask. And you would, also, did you know my wish."
"What is your wish?"
She shook her head: "It is useless to voice it—useless."
She gathered the scant fragments of her meal, wrapped them in a bit of silver birch-bark, unrolled her bundle, and placed them there. Then she drained the tin cup of its chilly water, and, still sitting there cross-legged on the rock, tied the little cup to her girdle. It seemed to me, there in the dusk, that she smiled very faintly; and if it was so it was the first smile I had had of her when she said:
"I travel light, Mr. Loskiel. But otherwise there is nothing light about me."
"Lois, I pray you, listen. As I am a man, I can not leave you here."
"For that reason, sir, you will presently take your leave."