The Son of the Wolf | Page 7

of braggadocio, easily
understood by the raw insinuations of the toothless squaws and the
giggling of the maidens. They had known few white men, 'Sons of the
Wolf,' but from those few they had learned strange lessons.
Nor had 'Scruff' Mackenzie, for all his seeming carelessness, failed to
note these phenomena. In truth, rolled in his sleeping-furs, he thought it
all over, thought seriously, and emptied many pipes in mapping out a
campaign. One maiden only had caught his fancy,--none other than
Zarinska, daughter to the chief. In features, form, and poise, answering
more nearly to the white man's type of beauty, she was almost an
anomaly among her tribal sisters. He would possess her, make her his
wife, and name her--ah, he would name her Gertrude! Having thus
decided, he rolled over on his side and dropped off to sleep, a true son
of his all-conquering race, a Samson among the Philistines.
It was slow work and a stiff game; but 'Scruff' Mackenzie maneuvered
cunningly, with an unconcern which served to puzzle the Sticks. He
took great care to impress the men that he was a sure shot and a mighty
hunter, and the camp rang with his plaudits when he brought down a
moose at six hundred yards. Of a night he visited in Chief
Thling-Tinneh's lodge of moose and cariboo skins, talking big and
dispensing tobacco with a lavish hand. Nor did he fail to likewise honor
the Shaman; for he realized the medicine-man's influence with his
people, and was anxious to make of him an ally. But that worthy was
high and mighty, refused to be propitiated, and was unerringly marked
down as a prospective enemy.
Though no opening presented for an interview with Zarinska,
Mackenzie stole many a glance to her, giving fair warning of his intent.
And well she knew, yet coquettishly surrounded herself with a ring of
women whenever the men were away and he had a chance. But he was
in no hurry; besides, he knew she could not help but think of him, and a
few days of such thought would only better his suit.
At last, one night, when he deemed the time to be ripe, he abruptly left
the chief's smoky dwelling and hastened to a neighboring lodge. As

usual, she sat with squaws and maidens about her, all engaged in
sewing moccasins and beadwork. They laughed at his entrance, and
badinage, which linked Zarinska to him, ran high. But one after the
other they were unceremoniously bundled into the outer snow, whence
they hurried to spread the tale through all the camp.
His cause was well pleaded, in her tongue, for she did not know his,
and at the end of two hours he rose to go.
'So Zarinska will come to the White Man's lodge? Good! I go now to
have talk with thy father, for he may not be so minded. And I will give
him many tokens; but he must not ask too much. If he say no? Good!
Zarinska shall yet come to the White Man's lodge.'
He had already lifted the skin flap to depart, when a low exclamation
brought him back to the girl's side. She brought herself to her knees on
the bearskin mat, her face aglow with true Eve-light, and shyly
unbuckled his heavy belt. He looked down, perplexed, suspicious, his
ears alert for the slightest sound without.
But her next move disarmed his doubt, and he smiled with pleasure.
She took from her sewing bag a moosehide sheath, brave with bright
beadwork, fantastically designed. She drew his great hunting-knife,
gazed reverently along the keen edge, half tempted to try it with her
thumb, and shot it into place in its new home. Then she slipped the
sheath along the belt to its customary resting-place, just above the hip.
For all the world, it was like a scene of olden time,--a lady and her
knight.
Mackenzie drew her up full height and swept her red lips with his
moustache,the, to her, foreign caress of the Wolf. It was a meeting of
the stone age and the steel; but she was none the less a woman, as her
crimson cheeks and the luminous softness of her eyes attested.
There was a thrill of excitement in the air as 'Scruff' Mackenzie, a
bulky bundle under his arm, threw open the flap of Thling-Tinneh's tent.
Children were running about in the open, dragging dry wood to the
scene of the potlach, a babble of women's voices was growing in

intensity, the young men were consulting in sullen groups, while from
the Shaman's lodge rose the eerie sounds of an incantation.
The chief was alone with his blear-eyed wife, but a glance sufficed to
tell Mackenzie that the news was already told. So he plunged at