16 THE GREY STIKINE

moved forward again, and behind him his squaw
followed closely like a shadow. A small child
clung to her skirt.

Judson was no ordinary Indian. He came of an
Atlin family, and kept a little apart from the
Tahltan tribe. For the occasion of this visit he had
dressed up, and put us entirely to shame. He wore
a dark blue suit and a white shirt; inside the con-
straining collar his brown neck was uncomfortable
but proud. His moccasined feet moved silently on
the boards.

The squaw was small and timid, but her eyes
were as busy as those of her mate. Under her arm
was a large bundle which she immediately began
to unfasten. As she did so a strong odour of smoked
hide escaped into the room. With evident pride,
which was somehow still modest and humble, she
displayed her handiwork. There were several pairs
of moose-skin moccasins, sewn strongly with sinew
as only an experienced and industrious squaw can
sew them; their tops were made of heavy canvas,
fashioned to wrap neatly round the ankle. For each
pair of moccasins there was a pair of dufHles, cut
from Hudson’s Bay blanket and shaped roughly to
fit the foot between woollen sock and moose-skin.
There were also mitts, made of caribou and lined
heavily with wool and cotton. Their gauntlets were