It was like stepping into a new life.

Several of the old neighbours at Redding were hunters who knew the wild Indians and had told him tales that glorified at least the wonderful woodcraft of the red man.

Once or twice Rolf had seen Indians travelling through, and he had been repelled by their sordid squalour.

But here was something of a different kind; not the Champlain ideal, indeed, for the Indian wore clothes like any poor farmer, except on his head and his feet; his head was bare, and his feet were covered with moccasins that sparkled with beads on the arch.

The wigwam was of canvas, but it had one or two of the sacred symbols painted on it.