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Updated: June 9, 2025
Her first thought was for her baby, and she was about to speak, when a young squaw, who must have been a mother herself, fathomed her thought and brought her the "mowitch," pale but living, in such a queer little willow cradle all bound up, just like the squaw's own young one, that she laughed and cried together, and the young squaw and the old squaw showed their big white teeth and glinted their black eyes and said, "Plenty get well, skeena mowitch," "wagee man come plenty soon," and she could have kissed their brown faces in her joy.
Blyth was after the festivities of the past night, and to ascertain if he still remained in the same mind about making the drawing of Mat's arms that evening. "I suspect you didn't brew the Squaw's Mixture half as weak as you told us you did," said Zack slily, when they rang at the bell. "It wasn't a bad joke for once in a way.
"Yes, sure; a squaw's," and Ralph swallowed a deep breath as though his surroundings stifled him. A thrill of emotion moved both men. There had leapt within them, in one great, overwhelming tide, all the old reckless craze for the shadowy creature of Victor's story.
With those words, Mat leant his bare elbows on the table, and watched Valentine's first experimental sip with great curiosity. The result was not successful. When Mr. Blyth put down the tumbler, all the watery part of the Squaw's Mixture seemed to have got up into his eyes, and all the spirituous part to have stopped short at his lungs.
Again I heard Louis' whistle and again the squaw's angry scream; but Little Fellow had followed on my heels and stood with knife-blade glittering bare at the tent-entrance. "Hush," I whispered, slashing my dagger through the thongs around her hands and cutting the rope that held her to the central stake. "We've found you at last. Come! Come!" and I caught her up. "O my God!" she cried. "At last!
The squaw instantly squatted before the adobe hearth, warmed her bundled baby, and left the ceremony of introduction to her companion. Flip regarded the two with calm preoccupation and indifference. The only thing that touched her interest was the old squaw's draggled skirt and limp neckerchief. They were Flip's own, long since abandoned and cast off in the Gin and Ginger Woods.
She was small, with handsome, scornful face and dark, proud eyes, gorgeously clad in elaborate beaded and fringed buckskin evidently an Indian princess or a chief's wife. She threw Allie a venomous glance as she went out. Allie heard the old squaw's grunting voice, and the young one's quick and passionate answers. There was nothing for Allie to do but await developments.
"An' if there's any trouble about it we can hang two as well as we can one," suggested Stevenson, placidly. "You sit tight an' mind yore own affairs, stranger," he warned. Hopalong turned his head slowly. "He's a liar, stranger; just a plain, squaw's dog of a liar. An' I'll be much obliged if you'll lick hell outen 'em an' let why, hullo, hoss-thief!" he shouted, at once recognizing the other.
"I see your finish if your squaw's people up country find out your doin's here." "They never will. The Yukon is many 'sleeps' away, and there is no communication between these Eskimos and the Indians." "You're makin' good the sayin' that a sailor has a wife in every port aint you Buster?" continued the man who in the absence of better employment delighted in teasing his partner. "Wife be blowed!
"Don't call it grog," retorted Mat, with two disputatious taps on the rim of the glass. "Dear me!" asked Valentine, amazedly, "what is it then?" "It's Squaw's Mixture," answered Mat, with three distinct taps of asseveration. Mr. Blyth and Zack laughed, under the impression that their queer companion was joking with them.
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