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Updated: June 21, 2025
The Ojibway knows his environment. The forest is to him so familiar in each and every one of its numerous and subtle aspects that the slightest departure from the normal strikes his attention at once.
Though somewhat similar in sound, it has no connection, it is asserted, with the word Chippeway, or Ojibway. For all that, the words are perhaps closely akin. The writer for the accurate use in this narrative of words in the Cree tongue is under obligation to experts. When preparing his notes to his drama of "Tecumseh" he was indebted to his friend, Mr.
Your experience with the Ojibway has left no ill results. He departed in the night. One can never tell what strange ideas these savages will take into their heads." "I have forgotten it," said Robert lightly. "I knew that a French gentleman could not take the word of a wild Ojibway against ours." De Courcelles gave him a sharp glance, but the youth's face was a mask.
"He is passing now, and I can see the outlines of their boats." The two were silent as the fish themselves, sustained by imperceptible strokes, and Robert saw the fleet of Tandakora pass in a ghostly line. They looked unreal, a shadow following shadows, the huge figure of the Ojibway chief in the first boat a shadow itself. Robert's blood chilled, and it was not from the cold of the water.
She had discovered the danger-sign in a single foot-print, which she saw at a glance was not that of her husband, and she was also convinced that it was not the foot-print of a Sioux, from the shape of the moccasin. This ability to recognize footprints is general among the Indians, but more marked in certain individuals. This courageous woman had driven away a party of five Ojibway warriors.
It made the tree sway a little, too, and as Robert could not resist the temptation to look downward once, the black surface of the river seemed to be dancing back and forth beneath him. But, save the single glance, his eyes all the while were for the Ojibway and the Frenchman. Tandakora and De Courcelles came a little closer to the bank.
As he threw it to the ground, a delicate spice-like aroma disengaged itself to mingle with the smell of cooking. Just at the edge of camp sat the wolf-dogs, their yellow eyes gleaming, waiting in patience for their tardy share. After the meal the women drew apart. Dick's eyes roved in vain, seeking a glimpse of the Ojibway girl.
The door was as that of a chancel or vestry; there was a large plate-glass window filled with Bibles and Testaments, all spread open and showing every variety of language in their pages. These were marked, Arabic, Syriac, Coptic, Ojibway, Irish and so forth. There was no doubt of the sacred character of the place. Here laboured Mr. Furlong senior, the father of the Rev. Edward Fareforth.
And Iadilla did as he was bid, for he was a brave and obedient lad. The days crept by, the long, long days of waiting, while Iadilla lay in the lodge bearing hunger and thirst such as no Ojibway lad had ever before known. All day and all night he lay still and spoke never a word.
"I take it from your tone that the event was of a stirring nature." "It was rather a chain of events. The Ojibway chief, Tandakora, whom we first saw with you, objected to our presence in the woods." St. Luc frowned and then laughed. "For that I am sorry," he said. "I would have controlled the Ojibway if I could, but he is an unmitigated savage. He left me, and did what he chose.
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