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The direction the bear had taken was towards the country over which Nick was working. Also Ralph could not help recollecting that the northeast was the direction in which lay the Moosefoot camp.
But Nick was not to be denied. "Ye've seen him," he said sharply; "him wi' the hood?" And he made a motion with his hand which described the stranger's headgear. Aim-sa nodded, and Nick went on. "We seen him up north. On the trail to the Moosefoot." The woman again nodded. She quite understood now, and her eyes brightened suddenly as she turned their dazzling depths of blue upon her questioner.
Nick was impressed, and Ralph's eyes had opened again. "Git goin', pard; guess your word's good fer me," Nick said eagerly. "You was sayin' " "Ye've heard tell o' the Moosefoot Injuns?" began the trader slowly. Nick nodded. "They're a queer lot o' neches. I used to do a deal o' trade wi' them on the Peace River, 'fore they was located on a reserve.
"It it ain't human." And Ralph had no answer to make. Then presently they turned to where the Moosefoot squaw had stood. She, too, had gone; vanished as completely as had the Hooded Man. There was the trail of her snow-shoes ruffling the snow, and the men ran following it as far as the forest edge; but here they stood. They could follow no further. Night was upon them.
And as men and dogs halted there was an awkwardness. How should they address her? They consulted, and their whisperings were loud enough to reach her ears. They did not attempt to suppress their tones unduly. This woman, they knew, did not understand the tongue of the whites, and probably knew only the language of the Moosefoot people. Therefore they spoke unguardedly.
"Aim-sa loves not. She must not. The Moosefoot she is Queen." "Curses on the Moosefoot, I say," cried Nick, with passionate impulse. Aim-sa put up her hand. "The man 'The Hood. Fear the Spirit." A chill shot down through Nick's heart as he listened. But his passion was only checked for the moment.
Then the door of the dugout opened and Aim-sa looked out into the relentless night. The figure moved forward again. It drew near to the door, and, in the light, the grey swathing of fur became apparent, and the cavernous hood lapping about the head identified the Spirit of the Moosefoot Indians. Then followed a low murmur of voices. And again the woman moved back into the hut.
If a buck was started and rushed crashing through the forest growths, he would pause ere he raised his rifle to assure himself that it was not a woman, garbed in the parti-coloured blanket of the Moosefoot Indians, and with a face radiant as an angel's. His slow-moving imagination was deeply stirred. From the Beginning Nature has spoken in no uncertain language.
"The white men are the friends of the Moosefoot people, and they have many presents. Have they fire-water?" Nick produced some bottles and the great man reached for them greedily. But the other withheld them. "What will Man-of-the-Snow-Hill do for the fire-water?" Ralph asked. The interpreter passed the word. "He will send his favourite squaw to guide the white men," he answered at once.
Over their fire they discussed their plans with seriousness. Neither of them could speak the Moosefoot language, but they could talk both Sioux and Cree, and they did not doubt but there would be interpreters about the chief. "We'll see him first thing, I guess," said the eager Nick. "Guess them two black foxes'll fix him good. He'll git a goodish bit o' trade for 'em."
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