He realised the fact, but his quick mind instantly turned the situation to his profit.  Without attempting to alter the malice of his expression, he nevertheless dropped his hand from his knife-hilt, and straightened his figure to the grandiose attitude of the Indian orator.

“This man speaks crooked words.  I know the language of the saganash.  He tells my brothers that he gives this robe to May-may-gwan because he holds it the dearest of his possessions, and because his heart is good towards my brother’s people.  But to the other saganash he said these words:  ’It is a little thing, and I do not wish to carry it.  What shall I do with it?’”

He folded his arms theatrically.  Dick Herron, his narrow eyes blazing, struck him full on the mouth a shoulder blow that sent him sprawling into the ashes by the fire.

The Chippewa was immediately on his feet, his knife in his hand.  Instinctively the younger Crees drew near to him.  The old race antagonism flashed forth, naturally, without the intervention of reason.  A murmur went up from the other bystanders.

Sam Bolton arose quietly to take his place at Dick’s elbow.  As yet there was no danger of violence, except from the outraged Chippewa.  The Crees were startled, but they had not yet taken sides.  All depended on an intrepid front.  For a moment they stared at one another, the Indians uncertain, the Anglo-Saxons, as always, fiercely dominant in spirit, no matter what the odds against them, as long as they are opposed to what they consider the inferior race.

Then a flying figure glided to the two.  May-may-gwan, palpitating with fear, thrust their rifles into the white men’s hands, then took her stand behind them.

But Haukemah interfered with all the weight of his authority.

“Stop!” he commanded, sharply.  “There is no need that friends should bear weapons.  What are you doing, my young men?  Do you judge these saganash without hearing what they have to say?  Ask of them if what the Chippewa says is true.”

“The robe is fine.  I gave it for the reason I said,” replied Dick.

The Cree young men, shaken from their instinctive opposition, sank back.  It was none of their affair, after all, but a question of veracity between Dick and his enemy.  And the Chippewa enjoyed none too good a reputation.  The swift crisis had passed.

Dick laughed his boyish, reckless laugh.

“Damn if I didn’t pick out the old idiot’s best girl!” he cried to his companion; but the latter doubtfully shook his head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When next day the band resumed the journey, it became evident that May-may-gwan was to be punished for her demonstration of the night before.  Her place in the bow of old Moose Cow’s canoe was taken by a little girl, and she was left to follow as best she might on foot.