“He must be an unpleasant old man to live with,” said Walking Moose; and because of the foolishness that was brewing in his heart he felt no suspicion. He stood inert, gazing down at Shining Star’s glossy head, while she gave vent to two long, shrill whistles.
“That will let him know that a visitor is coming,” she said. “It will give him time to get a pleasant smile on his face.”
This appeared to Walking Moose as the most excellent wit. Again they advanced, and soon they came to a little lodge of birchbark set in a grove of young firs. A faint haze of smoke crawled up from the hole in the roof. The door-flap of hide was fastened open, showing a shadowy interior and the glow of a fallen fire. The girl laid her fish on the moss beside the door, and peered into the lodge.
“Walking Moose, the mighty chief, has come to see you,” she said.
“Walking Moose is welcome to my poor lodge,” returned a feeble voice. “Let him enter and speak face to face with old Never Sleep.”
The girl drew back and nodded brightly to the chief.
“You go first,” said he, his native caution flickering up for a moment. “The lodge is so dark, that I am afraid that I might step upon the old man.”
She read the reason for his hesitation, and the blood tingled in her cheeks, but she entered without a word. He paused at the door for long enough to accustom his eyes to the dark within. He could see no one but Shining Star, and a robed, stooped figure seated on the ground. He stepped inside.
“The thong of my moccasin became unfastened,” he said, by way of explaining his hesitation at the door.
A dry chuckle came from the robed figure.