"Good," he went on. "Your father pray the Great Spirit keep you safe."
"Where is Father?"
He looked in the direction from which he had come. "We go Jasper's cabin—your father, red soldier, American trader, Onistah. You gone. Big storm—snow—sleet. No can go farther. Then your father he pray. We wait till Great Spirit he say, 'No more wind, snow,' Then we move camp. All search—go out find you." He pointed north, south, east, and west. "The Great Spirit tell me to come here. I say, 'Sleeping Dawn she with God, for Jesus' sake, Amen.'"
"You dear, dear boy," she sobbed.
"So I find you. Hungry?"
"No. I shot a fox."
"Then we go now." He looked at her feet. "Where your snowshoes?"
"West took them to keep me here. I'm making a pair. Come. We'll finish them."
They moved toward the house. Onistah stopped. The girl followed his eyes. They were fastened on a laden dog-train with two men moving across a lake near the shore of which the cabin had been built.
Her fear-filled gaze came back to the Indian. "It's West and Mr.
Whaley. What'll we do?"