professed the greatest friendship for the whites, standing in the crowd, she addressed herself to him, exclaiming, “What! you a friend of the whites, and not say a word in their behalf at such a time as this!  Speak! you know the murderer deserved to die; according to your own laws the deed was just; it is blood for blood.  The white men are not dogs; they love their kindred as well as you; why should they not avenge their murder?”

The moment the heroine’s voice was heard the tumult subsided; her boldness struck the savages with awe; the chief she addressed, acting on her suggestion, interfered; and being seconded by the old chief, who had no serious intention of injuring the whites, was satisfied with showing them that they were fairly in his power.  Mr. Douglas and his men were set at liberty; and an amicable conference having taken place, the Indians departed much elated with the issue of their enterprise.

A personal adventure of Waccan’s is worth recording.  An interpreter, a Cree half-breed, had been murdered by the Indians of Babine post with circumstances of great barbarity; and the perpetrators of the deed were allowed to exult in the shedding of innocent blood with impunity, one feeble, ineffectual attempt only having been made to chastise them.  Waccan, however, determined that the matter should not end thus, the victim being his adopted brother.  Having been sent to Babine post with an Indian lad, he learned from him that the murderers were encamped in a certain bay on Stuart’s Lake, and resolved to seize the long wished-for opportunity of revenge; but fearing for his companion’s safety more than his own, he landed him at a considerable distance from the camp, directing him to make the best of his way home if he should hear many shots.

He then paddled down as near the camp as he could without being discovered, and landing, threw off every article of clothing save a shred round his loins; and with his gun in the one hand, and dagger in the other, proceeded to the spot.  Having approached sufficiently near to see all that passed in the encampment, he squatted among the bushes, and watching his opportunity, “picked off” the ringleader; then rushing from his covert, and giving the war whoop, he planted his dagger in his heart almost before the Indians had time to know what had happened.  Seeing the infuriated “avenger of blood” in the midst of them, they fled precipitately to the woods.  Waccan dared them to revenge the death of the “dead dog” who had murdered his brother.

“Come,” said he, “you that were so brave at Babine Lake, and danced round the body of him whom you did not face, but knocked down when his back was to you, now is your time to show yourselves men.”

No one answering the challenge, he shouldered his gun, walked along the beach to his canoe, and paddling leisurely off from the shore, sang the Cree song of triumph.

CHAPTER XX.