“You’ll have to go to our camp,” said Enoch. “You can’t travel on that foot. You’ve sprained or broken it.”
Crow Wing nodded. He made no sign that the foot hurt him, excepting by holding it off the ice. “Some wolf pelts good,” he remarked, sententiously.
Lot had already turned away to examine the dead beasts. Only two skins were fit to be stripped from the carcasses and added to the pelts Enoch had brought from the traps. The two white boys quickly obtained these and then, with the Indian hobbling between them, and leaning on their shoulders, the trio made their way to camp through the moonlight, while the remaining wolves slunk back to the scene of the battle and devoured their dead comrades.
CHAPTER XIV
THE TESTIMONY OF CROW WING
The natures of the white man and the red are so opposed that it was impossible from the beginning of our North American history that either should really understand the sentiments and desires of the other. In the eyes of the Indian the most stoical and repressive white man was little better than a garrulous old woman. The “Yenghese,” as the Indians called the English, were less criticised on this point than were the French; but the latter, being an imitative race, more easily adapted themselves to the manner and life of the red man, and therefore won his confidence if not his respect.
Crow Wing displayed neither astonishment at finding the two white boys here, nor pain at the serious accident which had overtaken him. And it would have been a waste of time to urge him to explain more fully his being in this neighborhood. When he was ready to speak he would do so, and long after Lot Breckenridge was asleep, rolled up in his blanket and with his feet to the fire which blazed at the opening of the hut, did Enoch wait for the story. Crow Wing waited until he had slowly smoked out the little brass-bowled pipe which he carried with tobacco in a pouch at his belt. This pouch of tobacco and another of parched Indian corn, were all the provisions the ordinary Indian carried when on the march. The forest must supply his larder from time to time as he had need; and if game was scarce the red man went uncomplainingly with empty stomach.
“Harding and Lot found much pelt?” he said, questioningly, waving his hand at the bales of furs in the back of the shelter.
“So-so. We can’t complain, Crow Wing. You were trapping, too?”
“Yonder,” replied the Indian, pointing to the west. “Crow Wing look at trap; wolves met him; wolves very hungry; make much mad when hungry. Umph!”