"We wish to buy many moccasins of your old women," said Sam.

Immediately one of the Indians glided away. From time to time during the
next few minutes he was intermittently visible as he passed from the
dark interior of one wigwam, across the sunlight, and into the dark
interior of another.

The older of the two still in company of the white men began to ask
questions.

"The Little Father is about to make a long journey?"

"Does one buy so many moccasins for a short?"

"He goes to hunt the fur?"

"Perhaps."

"In what direction does he set the bow of his canoe?"

Suddenly Dick Herron, who had, as usual, been paying attention to almost
anything rather than the matter in hand, darted suddenly toward a clump
of grass. In a moment he straightened his back to hold at arm's length a
struggling little boy. At the instant of his seizure the child uttered a
sharp cry of fright, then closed his lips in the stoicism of his race.

That one cry was enough, however. Rescue darted from the nearest wigwam.
A flying figure covered the little distance in a dozen graceful leaps,
snatched the child from the young man's hands and stood, one foot
advanced, breast heaving, a palpitating, wild thing, like a symbol of