This woman they considered very handsome, calling her “a fine squaw—­clever squaw—­a much good woman;” though in what her superiority consisted, I never could discover, often as I visited the wigwam.  She was very dirty, and appeared quite indifferent to the claims of common decency (in the disposal of the few filthy rags that covered her).  She was, however, very expert in all Indian craft.  No Jew could drive a better bargain than Mrs. Tom; and her urchins, of whom she was the happy mother of five or six, were as cunning and avaricious as herself.

One day she visited me, bringing along with her a very pretty covered basket for sale.  I asked her what she wanted for it, but could obtain from her no satisfactory answer.  I showed her a small piece of silver.  She shook her head.  I tempted her with pork and flour, but she required neither.  I had just given up the idea of dealing with her, in despair, when she suddenly seized upon me, and, lifting up my gown, pointed exultingly to my quilted petticoat, clapping her hands, and laughing immoderately.

Another time she led me all over the house, to show me what she wanted in exchange for basket.  My patience was well nigh exhausted in following her from place to place, in her attempt to discover the coveted article, when, hanging upon a peg in my chamber, she espied a pair of trousers belonging to my husband’s logging-suit.  The riddle was solved.  With a joyful cry she pointed to them, exclaiming “Take basket.  Give them!” It was with no small difficulty that I rescued the indispensables from her grasp.

From this woman I learned a story of Indian coolness and courage which made a deep impression on my mind.  One of their squaws, a near relation of her own, had accompanied her husband on a hunting expedition into the forest.  He had been very successful, and having killed more deer than they could well carry home, he went to the house of a white man to dispose of some of it, leaving the squaw to take care of the rest until his return.  She sat carelessly upon the log with his hunting-knife in her hand, when she heard the breaking of branches near her, and turning round, beheld a great bear only a few paces from her.

It was too late to retreat; and seeing that the animal was very hungry, and determined to come to close quarters, she rose, and placed her back against a small tree, holding her knife close to her breast, and in a straight line with the bear.  The shaggy monster came on.  She remained motionless, her eyes steadily fixed upon her enemy, and as his huge arms closed around her, she slowly drove the knife into his heart.  The bear uttered a hideous cry, and sank dead at her feet.  When the Indian returned, he found the courageous woman taking the skin from the carcass of the formidable brute.  What iron nerves these people must possess, when even a woman could dare and do a deed like this!