"You haven't learned the force of running water yet," he said. "It can
be very strong sometimes, so strong that a little woman's hand like
yours has no power against it."
"It was because the stick caught in the handle," she muttered, bending
for the pail. "It hurt my fingers."
"You've never guessed that I was called 'Running Water,' have you?"
"You?" she paused with look arrested in sudden interest. "Who calls
you that?"
"Everybody--you. _L'eau courante_ means running water, doesn't it?
That's what you call me."
In the surprise of the revelation she forgot her unease and looked at
him, repeating slowly, "L'eau courante, running water. Why, of course.
But it's like an Indian's name."
"It is an Indian's name. The Blackfeet gave it to me because they said
I could run so fast. They were after me once and a man makes the best
time he can then. It was a fine race and I won it, and after that they
called me, 'The man that goes like Running Water.' The voyageurs and
coureurs des bois put it into their lingo and it stuck."
"But your real name?" she asked, the pail forgotten.
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