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Updated: May 21, 2025
"It's a pitch torch burning in front of his door!" A shrill, quavering cry came from the direction of Mukee's cabin, and the two recognized it as the voice of the half-breed's father a wordless cry, rising and dying away again and again, like the wailing of a dog.
The grim laws of the savage world in which she lived had already begun to fix their influence upon her, quickening her instinct and reason, just as they hastened the lives of Indian children into the responsibilities of men and women before they had reached fifteen. She knew what the red flag over Mukee's cabin meant.
A sickly pallor filled the other man's face; but Mukee's voice was soft and dispassionate, his touch was velvety in its hint, and he went with the guiding hand away from the curtained window, smiling in a companionable way. Mukee's teeth gleamed back. The Englishman chuckled. Then Mukee's hands changed.
"The red flag is everywhere!" he cried, catching sight of the signal over Mukee's cabin. "It is to the east and west of the Hasabala as thick as jays in springtime!" The Cree from the Gray Otter drove in on his way north. "Six wigwams with dead in them," he reported in his own language to Williams. "A company man, with a one-eyed leader and four trailers, left the Gray Otter to burn them."
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