Enoch was vastly astonished to see whom he had befriended. "I had no
idea who it was," he said. "How came you in this country, Crow Wing?"

The Indian, now grown to be a tall and magnificent looking warrior, was
breathing heavily and had some difficulty in answering for a moment. He
stood, too, on one foot, holding up his left one like a lamed stork.
"Umph!" he grunted at last, "White boys in good time. Save Injin sure!"
He gravely offered his hand first to Enoch and then to Lot. "Crow Wing
lame. Hurt foot--break gun--wolves come howl, howl, howl! No can scare
'em; no can make fire; no can run good. Umph!"

"You'll have to go to our camp," said Enoch. "You can't travel on that
foot. You've sprained or broken it."

Crow Wing nodded. He made no sign that the foot hurt him, excepting by
holding it off the ice. "Some wolf pelts good," he remarked,
sententiously.

Lot had already turned away to examine the dead beasts. Only two skins
were fit to be stripped from the carcasses and added to the pelts Enoch
had brought from the traps. The two white boys quickly obtained these
and then, with the Indian hobbling between them, and leaning on their
shoulders, the trio made their way to camp through the moonlight, while
the remaining wolves slunk back to the scene of the battle and devoured
their dead comrades.

CHAPTER XIV

THE TESTIMONY OF CROW WING

The natures of the white man and the red are so opposed that it was
impossible from the beginning of our North American history that either
should really understand the sentiments and desires of the other. In the
eyes of the Indian the most stoical and repressive white man was little
better than a garrulous old woman. The "Yenghese," as the Indians called
the English, were less criticised on this point than were the French;
but the latter, being an imitative race, more easily adapted themselves
to the manner and life of the red man, and therefore won his confidence
if not his respect.

Crow Wing displayed neither astonishment at finding the two white boys
here, nor pain at the serious accident which had overtaken him. And it
would have been a waste of time to urge him to explain more fully his
being in this neighborhood. When he was ready to speak he would do so,
and long after Lot Breckenridge was asleep, rolled up in his blanket and
with his feet to the fire which blazed at the opening of the hut, did
Enoch wait for the story. Crow Wing waited until he had slowly