ralph, without knowing exactly how it had been brought about, was sensible that he had produced a calamity. penitence and shame overwhelmed him. he felt like one who has inadvertently killed something beautiful and defenceless. with too much feeling he was dumb. he could only stand off and watch her wretchedly, and reproach himself.
the spectacle of nahnya's still despair became more than he could bear at last, and he went to her where she sat on the bank. "nahnya, what is the matter?" he begged to know. "what have i done?"
"nothing," she said dully. "you not mean bad."
"then why are you sitting like this? why did you look at me so when you came?"
"i feel bad," she said simply. "you are here. i not know what will happen now."
"what can happen?" he asked, mystified. "why shouldn't i come here? why can't you trust me a little?"
"trust!" she said with an inexplicable look. "what is trust? you mean good, i think. you are a white man. you can't change that. how can you stop what will happen, anyway?"
"you talk in riddles!" cried the exasperated ralph. "if you'd been plain and open with me from the first, wouldn't it have saved all this trouble? why can't you tell me what it is?"
nahnya twisted her hands painfully together. the quiet voice began to break. "i can't talk," she murmured. "i feel much bad. i have got no right words to tell you."
"do you want me to go back?" he asked.
she shook her head. "you have found the place," she said. "what does it matter when you go? stay here. by and by i try to tell you what is in my heart."
"but your mother," said ralph. "i must go back and see to her."
"charley and i carry her through the mountain," nahnya answered. "they are waiting back there. i will send the boys to help charley carry her here." she raised her voice: "jean bateese!"
the old man hastened to them. nahnya gave him an order in cree. continuing in english, she said:
"the doctor will stay with us to-night. he is our friend. make everything for his comfort."
her unaffected magnanimity, after he had so grievously injured her, touched ralph to the quick, and covered him afresh with shame. "nahnya, i'm so sorry!" he burst out impulsively.
she got up without answering, and walked down to the lake shore. lifting one of the birch-bark canoes into the water, she got in, and without looking back headed her craft up the lake, paddling with her own grace and assurance.
"where is she going?" asked ralph jealously.
the old man spread out his palms deprecatingly. "i do not ask," he said. "she moch lak to go alone. she is not the same as us." whenever jean bateese referred to nahnya it was with the unquestioning air that an ancient egyptian might have said: "cleopatra wills it."
he led ralph back to the fire. the three tepees stood in a row parallel with the lake shore. between them were summer shelters of leaves, so that the women could do their household tasks out of doors. their winter gear, sledges, furs, and snowshoes, was slung up on poles out of harm's way. there were racks for smoking meat and fish, and frames for tanning hides, all carefully disposed to be out of the way. the view from the little esplanade of grass in front was superb.
the two boys were standing near, rigid with astonishment and curiosity. they were a comely pair, sixteen or seventeen years old, with bold, handsome faces that became sullen with shyness at ralph's approach. each was naked to the waist and lean as a panther, with a coppery skin that shone in the sun, and muscles that crawled subtly beneath as if endowed with separate life. they wore buckskin trousers, and moccasins embroidered with dyed porcupine quills; their inky hair grew to their shoulders, and each wore a thong about his forehead to confine it.
here the resemblance ended. he who stood a foot in advance was the taller. he had thin features and an aquiline glance. in the band around his head, unconsciously true to his type, he had stuck an eagle's feather.
"this ahmek, marya's son, the brother of nahnya," said st. jean bateese.
the other boy, while an inch or two shorter, was broader in the shoulders. his face was flat with high cheekbones and narrow eyes.
"this myengeen, my son." the old man spoke a word in cree, and each boy put forth a bashful hand to ralph.
ralph could not remember their uncouth names. the taller boy he thought of afterward as c?sar; the other as ching.
st. jean transmitted nahnya's order to them, and the two departed in the direction of the cave.
ralph, notwithstanding his distress on nahnya's account, could not but be keenly interested in the life of the strange little community that she ruled. since she withheld the explanation of her unhappiness, he listened eagerly to st. jean's gossip, and questioned him, hoping to discover a clue there. though st. jean had shared in nahnya's dismay at the white man's coming, he had pride and pleasure in exhibiting their work. moreover, nahnya had commanded him to do the honours. courtesy was this old savage gentleman's ruling force.
"him good boys," st. jean said, looking after them proudly. the old man's english gradually came back to him at his need. "i teach him all my fat'er teach me, long tam ago. i teach him to be pain and 'onger and cold, and say not'ing. i teach him mak' canoe. i teach him shoot with the bow."
"have you no guns?" asked ralph.
"our fat'ers got no guns long ago," answered the old man. "nahnya say bang-bang drive every beast out of our valley. him not any scare of arrows. we kill sheep and goat on the mountains with arrows. we kill caribou with arrows. my boys good hunters."
"are there caribou in this little valley?" ralph asked with surprise.
"n'moya," said st. jean, shaking his head. "over the pass up there"—he pointed to the north—"there is another valley. when the first snow come we travel there to kill for winter. nahnya say we kill only bulls, and him never get scarce."
the simple old man worshipped at two shrines. "our fat'ers do that" was continually on his lips; or, "nahnya say so."
if ralph had been a long-desired guest instead of what he was, an intruder, st. jean could scarcely have done more. he made ralph sit on a blanket and brought him a new pair of moccasins. he commanded the young woman to bring food. this was charley's woman, he explained; her name, ahahweh. the baby was the first native of the valley; the first of the strong race they meant to establish.
"don't the boys ever want to get out of the valley?" ralph asked curiously.
st. jean shook his head. "n'moya. him not white men. him not want what him not see. him happy enough for good hunting and plenty meat. pretty soon him take a woman and build lodge."
"wives?" said ralph. "where will you get them?"
"they are here," said st. jean. "marya's son will take my girl. my son take marya's girl. marya teach the girls all woman's work, lak our people long tam ago. they are good workers."
ralph remembered the two scared young faces he had seen looking from the tepee. "suppose the boys are not pleased with the girls you have chosen for them?" he asked.
st. jean looked at him surprised as by a foolish question. "there are no more girls," he said.
"how long have you been here?" ralph asked.
"two summers."
"how about you? wouldn't you like to see the world again?"
jean bateese shook his head. "i am old," he said. "i have seen everything. i have travelled as far as the landing. i have seen too much white man." here, feeling that he had been impolite, he hastened to add deprecatingly: "white man good for white man. white man moch bad for red man. nahnya say so. she is not lak other women. she is more wise than a man."
ralph had the feeling that he was listening to wisdom from its source.
jean bateese waved his hand over the lovely scene before them, and his old eyes grew soft. "this our good hunting-ground," he said. "my boys good hunters. him get good wife. him have many good, fat babies. him live same lak red man live long tam ago. him forget white man. it is best."
as ralph listened, the white man's world of artifice and oppression, the world of teeming, disease-ridden cities, the world of place-seeking and money-grubbing seemed like a nightmare to him. he felt as if he were being shown a glimpse of the essential truths of our being. as st. jean had said in his own way, nature was best.
charley's wife, the blooming young ahahweh, served him his dinner in an agony of bashfulness. the meal consisted of a stew of goat's flesh and rice. ralph found it good.
"rice?" he said questioningly.
"wild rice," said jean bateese. "him grow around the lake more than we can eat. we eat nothing from the white man's store only tea. the tea is near gone. i will miss it," he said with a sigh. "but our fat'ers not drink tea," he added stoutly.
before ralph was through eating, the two boys came into camp bearing his patient on the litter. examining her, he found that she did not appear to have taken any hurt from her journey. charley, st. jean bateese explained, had gone back through the cave to fetch the rest of their belongings from the camp in the woods.
an hour passed, and there was still no sign of nahnya's return. ralph became more and more uneasy. st. jean assured him that it was nahnya's custom frequently to paddle away by herself, and that they never sought to question her, nor to follow. meanwhile the old man relaxed none of his efforts to entertain ralph. he put his pupils through their paces. there was a foot-race in the grass, which ching won to everybody's surprise, and the chagrined c?sar was forced to yield up a brass clock-wheel that he wore around his neck. a race between the two canoes across the lake and back followed. this time c?sar redeemed himself. the lithe young creatures were wholly beautiful in action. afterward they were sent into the woods with their bows and arrows. by and by c?sar returned with a brace of rabbits, and ching brought in a fat porcupine. ching was held to have won.
"rabbit him no good meat," st. jean said. "man eat rabbit till him can't swallow no more and stay poor."
st. jean was like a fountain of humble philosophy. like all philosophers, he frankly rejoiced in a good listener. ralph for his part was strongly drawn to the gentle, garrulous old man. st. jean was a real individual. he had lived a real life, and stored a real wisdom from it. this natural life, as ralph saw it lived before him, and as st. jean interpreted it to him, satisfied a deep desire in him. this was what he had always been looking for. nevertheless as he listened his heaviness increased. he could not deny the sad conviction that it was not for him. he was like an old man envying youth. he was an interloper here. he began to understand why nahnya had been so distressed by his coming. he waited for her return anxiously, but without much hope.
she returned in time for the evening meal. he experienced an immense relief to see her safe. her face was now composed and inscrutable. she made no overtures toward ralph. ralph's meal was served in state apart; baked porcupine and rice cakes. he would have much preferred to join the others, but this was their politeness. none would start eating until he had begun.
afterward they all gathered in a circle about the campfire. even old marya was carried out of the tepee to take a place. nahnya sat between her mother and jean bateese and kept her eyes in cover. ralph sat on the other side of st. jean bateese. from across the fire the several pairs of beady black eyes stared at the white man with a savage, unwinking fixity.
st. jean bateese told a story. the words were lost on ralph, but the quaint and speaking gestures were illuminative. afterward, in his politeness, st. jean insisted on repeating the whole tale in english.
"it is said once ver' long tam ago," he began, "when it was winter, when it was snow for the first tam, when the snow still lie on the ground, three men go out hunting early in the morning. come to a place on the side of a hill where there is moch thick, low scrub. and a bear is gone in there. them see his tracks, wah! one man go in after him and start bear running. man call out: 'him gone to the place where cold comes from!'—what you say north.
"other man him already gone round to place where cold comes from. him call: 'bear gone back fast where comes the noon shadow!'—what you say south. other man him already gone by side where noon shadow comes from. him call: 'bear going quick to the place where the sun fall down!' him call.
"so this way and that way long tam they keep the bear running from one to other. bam-by the story says one man that come behind, him look down and see the world far, far down, wah! wah! and it was green! it is the truth, that bear him bring them right up into the sky, all tam in that place of thick scrub they think they chase him. and now it was spring!
"the man that come behind him, call to other man next before him: 'oh, joining-of-rivers, we must turn back. truly into the sky he lead us!' he say to joining-of-rivers. him say not'ing back again.
"joining-of-rivers him run between the front man and the back man, and him have his little dog call 'hold-tight' run along behind him.
"bam-by in the time of leaves falling they catch him bear. they kill him. after they kill him they cut many boughs of poplar and much sumach. they throw the bear on the boughs, and skin him and cut up meat. always when the summer goes the poplars and the sumach redden in the leaf. why is that? because they put the bear on top the boughs, and all the leaves are stained with blood. that is why the poplar and the sumach turn red after summer.
"after those three men skin that bear and cut up meat, they throw what is left all around. to place where light first comes in the morning they throw the head. in the winter when the light is near coming there are stars there. they say it is the bear's head. his backbone they throw to the east also. in the winter ver' often you see stars there close together. it is that backbone!"
st. jean paused, and cast a look around the circle to gather all eyes for the climax of his tale. though they could not understand these words, they knew what was coming and hung upon the event attentively. suddenly the old man pointed dramatically to the east. "see!" he cried. "they are coming now, the stars of that hunt! there are four stars in front. they say that is the bear! and the three that come behind is the three men that chase him. now look hard with your young eyes. between the middle star and the behind star you see a tiny little star hanging there?"
all the boys and girls looked hard at ralph. "i see it," he said, perceiving that it was expected of him.
"that is little hold-tight the pet of joining-of-rivers!" said st. jean bateese triumphantly. "that is the end of the story."
exclamations of high satisfaction were heard around the fire. clearly these tales never palled. to work and to hunt all day, and to tell poetic tales around the fire! what a complete life! ralph thought. he glanced at nahnya, seeking to let her know that he was not alien to her life. her expression dismayed him. never had he seen such sadness in a woman's face.
c?sar spoke up from his side of the fire. "him say him tell story now," said st. jean bateese. as the boy went on with fire in his eye, and shrewd gesticulation imitated from his master, st. jean translated sotto-voce, for ralph.
"little spider happened to be travelling along alone in a certain place, they say. he go alone through the forest eating. him come to a river, and stand on the edge. him want to go across ver' bad, but there is no way. they say spider say: 'here i stand all tam thinking, oh! how i want sit on the other side!' then something big come swimming up against the current. but only his long horns are showing. spider say again: 'here i sit all tam thinking, oh! how i want sit on the other side!'
"then the beast with long horns, him stop there and say to him: 'ho! friend! i will take you across this water, but you mus' do something for me.'
"spider say: 'come, my young brother, i all tam do what you tell me.'
"so he say to him: 'i all tam swim in the water with my head not out. so you mus' sit and watch for me. then spider say 'yes! so big-horn say, when one small cloud comes tell me. then i will double up and go back to deep water.'
"then spider say: 'wah! my young brother, what will i do when you double up and go back to deep water?"
"big-horn say: 'when you tell me and i double up and swim away, you will fall beside the shore. when you say to me your grandfather is coming, that means the thunders roar.'
"so spider was going along in the water sitting on the horn. when he was going along in the water near the other shore black clouds came. so spider say: 'wah! my young brother, your grandfather is coming!'
"wah! wah! towasasuak! all around the water is jump and roar and go white! and where spider goes he not remember at all. long tam he not remember nothing. by and by when him get his sense back, he is lying half on the land and half in the water. him look and all the water is muddy, and him not see this thing with long horns any more, and he hear thunders roaring.
"after that they say spider travel like anybody else. ahmek remembers only this far."
the group around the fire broke up without ralph's having had a chance to get into communication with nahnya. she baffled every attempt he made. when he saw her leading her mother into the tepee, his heart went down like a stone, thinking he would not see her again until morning.
"nahnya!" he cried. "aren't you going to speak to me? you promised!"
she turned with her inscrutable face. "i am coming back," she said. "wait for me." she paused for an instant, and added: "st. jean, you stay up, too. we three will talk."
ralph angrily bit his lip. so it appeared she was still bent on keeping him at arm's length. he wanted no third at their talk.
