"Injun moccasins," he said. "Guess so, by the seamin'." "'Tain't a buck neche, neither." "No." There was an impressive pause, and the silent land seemed weighted down as with an atmosphere of gloomy presage. Nick broke it, and his voice had in it a harsh ring. The fire of passion was once more alight in his eyes. "It's a squaw's," he added.