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Updated: July 1, 2025
They talked together long and earnestly; their tones were of dictation on the part of the woman and subservience on the part of the man. Then the Spirit of the Moosefoot Indians moved away, and the White Squaw retraced her steps to the dugout. A look of triumph was in Aim-sa's blue eyes as she returned through the forest. She gave no heed to the slinking forms that dogged her steps.
And sure enough, as the eager eyes looked out over the snow and forest, the grim, silent figure was there, watching, watching; but no nearer to them. That night they came to the Moosefoot Reserve, and both men experienced such nervous relief as they had never before known. They camped within sight of the Indian teepees and log huts, but they waited for morning before they approached the chief.
The language of the Cree helped him, for the natural colouring of the Indian tongues is as flowery as that of any Eastern race. "We come from beyond the mountains, from the hunting-grounds of forest and river where the great fathers of the Moosefoot Indians dwelt. We come to tell the White Squaw that the land cries out for her, and the return of the children of the Moose.
They took her words without a doubt. They accepted all she said without question. They never doubted her identity with the White Squaw. Primitive superstition deeply moved them. "You was scared when you see him just now?" said Ralph, questioningly. Aim-sa nodded. "He come to take me," she said, halting over the words. "The Moosefoot they angry Aim-sa stay away." "Hah!"
He made them take a supply of essences and "trade." He told them of the disposition of Man-of-the-Snow-Hill, the Moosefoot chief, assuring them he would sell his soul for strong drink. No encouragement was left ungiven, and, well before noon, the dogs stood ready in the traces.
She told them that she was Aim-sa, which is the Moosefoot for "Blue-Sky"; and that she was the White Squaw, the queen of her people. She indicated that she was out on a "long trail" hunting, and that she had found herself in this valley, with a snow-storm coming on. She had seen the dugout and had sought its shelter, intending to remain there until the storm had passed.
"I was thinkin' o' that white crittur you got yarnin' about when you come around our shanty. Jest whar's that Moosefoot Reserve, an' an' the bit o' forest whar her lodge is located? Maybe I'd fancy to know. I 'lows I was kind o' struck on that yarn." The trader saw the eager face, and the excitement in the eyes which looked into his, and, in a moment, his merry mood died out.
Then Ralph went on. "We have come on the 'long trail' through the mountains. And we seek the White Squaw of the Moosefoot Indians." The chief remained quite calm, but his bleared old eyes shot a sidelong gleam at the speaker in which there was little friendliness. No other movement was allowed to give evidence of disquiet.
She understood these men as they little thought she understood them. "It is the Spirit the Great Spirit," she said, in her broken speech. "The Spirit of Moosefoot Indian. Him watches Aim-sa Queen of Moosefoot. She White Squaw." Ralph turned away uneasily. These mysterious allusions troubled him. Nick could not withdraw his fascinated gaze. Her strange eyes held him captive.
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