Eskimos arrived at the mouth of
Greygoose, or Whale, River, they found the place, as they had been
accustomed to find it, a complete solitude.

At first they expected to overtake their comrade Cheenbuk there, but he
was not found, having gone a considerable way inland in pursuit of game.
Being aware of his peaceful proclivities, however, the Eskimos were not
sorry to miss him, and they set about making an encampment on the shore
at the mouth of the river, intending to leave the women there while they
should be engaged in hunting and in searching for the Fire-spouters.

Meanwhile these Fire-spouters, having eaten and slept, and eaten and
slept again, to the extent of their capacities, began to experience a
revival of the war-spirit.

In front of one of the lodges or leather tents, one morning early, there
sat two squaws engaged in ornamenting moccasins and discussing the news
of their little world.

It was one of those bright genial mornings in spring peculiar to Arctic
lands, in which Warmth comes out with a burst victorious, and Cold
shrinks away discomfited. Everything looked as if a great revival of
Nature were at hand--as in truth it was, for the long Arctic winter is
always driven away with a rush by the vigour, if not the violence, of
the brief Arctic spring.

One of the women was young and pretty--yes, we might almost say
beautiful. It is quite a mistake to suppose that all savages are
coarse, rough, and ugly. Many of them, no doubt--perhaps most of them--
are plain enough, but not a few of the Indian squaws are fairly
good-looking, and this one, as we have said at the risk of being
doubted, was beautiful; at all events she had a fine oval face, a smooth
warm-coloured skin, a neat little nose, a well-formed mouth, and
jet-black hair, with large lustrous eyes, to say nothing of her teeth,
which, like the teeth of most Indians, were regular and brilliantly
white. Her name was Adolay--that being the Indian name for Summer.

The other squaw was her mother. She was usually styled Isquay--which
means woman--by her husband when he was at home, but, being a great
hunter, he was not often at home. Poor Isquay might have been
good-looking in her youth, but, alas! hard work, occasional starvation,
and a rough life, had prematurely dissipated her beauty, whatever it
might have been; yet these conditions could not put to flight the lines
and dimples of kindliness which played about her weatherworn eyes and
cheek