' It was threat and counter-threat. Mackenzie's bronzed face
flushed darkly. He raised his voice. The old squaw, who till now
had sat an impassive spectator, made to creep by him for the
door.
The song of the men broke suddenly and there was a hubbub of many
voices as he whirled the old woman roughly to her couch of skins.
'Again I cry--listen, O Thling-Tinneh! The Wolf dies with teeth
fast-locked, and with him there shall sleep ten of thy strongest
men,--men who are needed, for the hunting is not begun, and the
fishing is not many moons away. And again, of what profit should
I die? I know the custom of thy people; thy share of my wealth
shall be very small. Grant me thy child, and it shall all be
thine. And yet again, my brothers will come, and they are many,
and their maws are never filled; and the daughters of the Raven
shall bear children in the lodges of the Wolf. My people are
greater than thy people. It is destiny. Grant, and all this
wealth is thine.' Moccasins were crunching the snow without.
Mackenzie threw his rifle to cock, and loosened the twin Colts in
his belt.
'Grant, O Chief!' 'And yet will my people say no.' 'Grant, and
the wealth is thine.
Pages:
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41