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Mitiahwe’s eyes were determined, her face was set, she flushed deeply, then the color fled. “What my mother would say, I will say. Shall the white man’s Medicine fail? If I wish it, then it will be so; and I will say so.”

“But if the white man’s Medicine fail?” Swift Wing made a gesture toward the door where the horseshoe hung. “It is Medicine for a white man, will it be Medicine for an Indian?”

“Am I not a white man’s wife?”

“But if there were the Sun Medicine also, the Medicine of the days long ago?”

“Tell me. If you remember–Kai! but you do remember–I see it in your face. Tell me, and I will make that Medicine also, my mother.”

“To-morrow, if I remember it–I will think, and if I remember it, to-morrow I will tell you, my heart’s blood. Maybe my dream will come to me and tell me. Then, even after all these years a papoose–“

“But the boat will go at dawn to-morrow, and if he go also–“

“Mitiahwe is young, her body is warm, her eyes are bright, the songs she sings, her tongue–if these keep him not, and the Voice calls him still to go, then still Mitiahwe shall whisper, and tell him–“

“Hai-yo–hush,” said the girl, and trembled a little, and put both hands on her mother’s mouth.

For a moment she stood so, then with an exclamation suddenly turned and ran through the doorway, and sped toward the river, and into the path which would take her to the post, where her man traded with the Indians and had made much money during the past six years, so that he could have had a thousand horses and ten lodges like that she had just left. The distance between the lodge and the post was no more than a mile, but Mitiahwe made a detour, and approached it from behind, where she could not be seen. Darkness was gathering now, and she could see the glimmer of the light of lamps through the windows, and as the doors opened and shut. No one had seen her approach, and she stole through a door which was open at the rear of the warehousing room, and went quickly to another door leading into the shop. There was a crack through which she could see, and she could hear all that was said. As she came she had seen Indians gliding through the woods with their purchases, and now the shop was clearing fast, in response to the urging of Dingan and his partner, a Scotch half-breed. It was evident that Dingan was at once abstracted and excited.

Presently only two visitors were left–a French half-breed called Lablache, a swaggering, vicious fellow, and the captain of the steamer Ste. Anne, which was to make its last trip south in the morning–even now it would have to break its way through the young ice.

Dingan’s partner dropped a bar across the door of the shop, and the four men gathered about the fire. For a time no one spoke. At last the captain of the Ste. Anne said: “It’s a great chance, Dingan. You’ll be in civilization again, and in a rising town of white people–Groise’ll be a city in five years, and you can grow up and grow rich with the place. The Company asked me to lay it all before you, and Lablache here will buy out your share of the business, at whatever your partner and you prove it’s worth. You’re young; you’ve got everything before you. You’ve made a name out here for being the best trader west of the Great Lakes, and now’s your time. It’s none of my affair, of course, but I like to carry through what I’m set to do, and the Company said, ‘You bring Dingan back with you. The place is waiting for him, and it can’t wait longer than the last boat down.’ You’re ready to step in when he steps out, ain’t you, Lablache?”