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He was telling them the news, as one who passed the time of day. "We have killed but neenee-sheeb, the duck," replied Dick, holding up one of the victims by the neck, "nor have we seen the trail of game." "Ah hah," replied Haukemah, politely. He picked up his paddle. It was the signal to start.
Haukemah himself roused valiantly to the defence, but was promptly upset and pounced upon by the enraged animal. A smother of spray enveloped the scene. Dick Herron rose suddenly to his feet and shot. The bear collapsed into the muddied water, his head doubled under, a thin stream of arterial blood stringing away down the current. Haukemah and his steersman rose dripping.
Toward night some of the younger members grew so bold as to cast fierce looks in the direction of the white visitors. Finally late in the evening old Haukemah came to them. For some time he sat silent and grave, smoking his pipe, and staring solemnly into the coals. "Little Father," said he at last, "you and I are old men. Our blood is cool. We do not act quickly. But other men are young.
One evening old Haukemah received from the women the bear's robe fully tanned. Its inner surface had been whitened and then painted rudely with a symbolical representation of the hunt. Haukemah spoke as follows, holding the robe in his hand: "This is the robe of makwá, our little brother. His flesh we all ate of. But you who killed him should have his coat.
Each canoe contained, besides its two occupants, a variety of household goods, and a dog or two coiled and motionless, his sharp nose resting between his outstretched forepaws. The tame crow occupied an ingenious cage of twisted osiers. Haukemah greeted the two white men cordially, and stopped paddling to light his pipe. One by one the other canoes joined them.
If an enemy should happen along, he could do harm to Haukemah simply by overturning the trophy, whereas an unidentified skull might belong to a friend, and so would be let alone on the chance. For that reason, too, when they broke camp the following day, the expert trailers took pains to obliterate the more characteristic indications of their stay. Now abruptly the weather changed.
Haukemah was somewhat disgusted at the wetting of his finery, but the bear is a sacred animal, and even ceremonial dress and an explanation of the motives that demanded his death might not be sufficient to appease his divinity. The women's squadron appeared about the bend, and added their cries of rejoicing to those of their husbands and brothers.
They ain't one could come along here and see th' signs of this camp and rest easy 'till he'd figgered out how many they were, and where they were going, and what they were doing, and all about it. These records are a kind-hearted try to save other Injuns that come along a whole lot of trouble. That's why old Haukemah wrote it in Ojibway 'stead of Cree: this is by rights Ojibway country."
When near the centre of the men's group, Dick dropped her hand. Promptly she made as though to escape, but stopped at a word from Haukemah. It was May-may-gwán, the Ojibway girl. Obediently she paused.
She dropped her head lower, but glanced from the corner of her eye at the questioner. "Answer!" commanded Haukemah. "May-may-gwán," she replied in a low voice. "Oh, yes," said Dick, in English. "You're an Ojibway," he went on in Cree. "Yes." "That explains why you're such a tearing little beauty," muttered the young man, again in English.
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