embarrassed giggle glancing shyly over her shoulder at her companions.
When near the centre of the men's group, Dick dropped her hand.

Promptly she made as though to escape, but stopped at a word from
Haukemah. It was May-may-gwán, the Ojibway girl.

Obediently she paused. Her eyes were dancing with the excitement of the
adventure, an almost roguish smile curved her mouth and dimpled her
cheek, her lower lip was tightly clasped between her teeth as she stood
contemplating her heavily beaded little moccasin, awaiting the
explanation of this, to her, extraordinary performance.

"What is your name, little sister?" asked Dick in Cree.

She dropped her head lower, but glanced from the corner of her eye at
the questioner.

"Answer!" commanded Haukemah.

"May-may-gwán," she replied in a low voice.

"Oh, yes," said Dick, in English. "You're an Ojibway," he went on in
Cree.

"Yes."

"That explains why you're such a tearing little beauty," muttered the
young man, again in English.

"The old-men," he resumed, in Cree, "have given me this robe. Because I