“He is a wise man who halts and sets his feet and eyes to rights at the threshold of a strange lodge,” said the feeble voice of Never Sleep.
Walking Moose felt absurdly young and transparent. He stood beside the fire and stared over it at the old man. He could see little but the living gleam of the face and a hint of two watchful eyes.
“What do you want of me, great chief?” asked Never Sleep.
“I met your granddaughter at the river, where she was fishing,” replied the warrior. “She told me her story, and so I came home with her to mark the position of your lodge. All who dwell in my country are in my care. It is well for me to know where to find every one of my people, in case of need.”
“You will find me of small use to you in time of need,” returned the other, “for I am old and weak, and my fighting days are over. Only in one way can I serve you, chief. I brew potent liquors for the cure of all bodily ills.”
“It is well,” said Walking Moose, with a full recovery of his usual manner. “But you twist the truth of my words. I do not ask for your help, old man; but you and your granddaughter may need mine, some time. Brew your liquor in peace—and in danger send word to Walking Moose.”
With that he turned on his heel and left the lodge.
Next morning found the chief of the people of the White Salmon again reclined on the flat rock above the amber pool; and again his dreams of ambition and plans of warfare were disturbed by the girl whom he had named Shining Star. Again she slid down to the rock, with the coiled fish-line in her hand. Again he took the line from her and caught a trout for her dinner. So it happened for six days, and by that time the dreams of Walking Moose were all of Shining Star instead of ambition. He even made a song, and it seemed to please Shining Star. But of these strangers he said nothing in the village. It would be time to speak of them when he had won the prize.
On the seventh morning the chief waited on the rock above the amber pool for an hour. After that he spent another hour in walking up and down the bed of the stream for a distance of several hundred yards each way. He flushed hot and cold with anxiety.
“Has something happened to her?” he asked of the lonely stream. “Or have they both gone away as quietly as they came?”