The Huntress Part 42

"White man lak beaver. All tam work don' give a d.a.m.n!" he observed.

"Red man lak bear. Him lazy. Fat in summer, starve in winter. Got no sense at all."

Sam laughed. "You've got sense," he said.

Musq'oosis shrugged philosophically. "I not the same lak ot'er men. I got crooked back, weak legs. I got work sittin' down. So my head is busy."

He smoked with a reminiscent look.

"When I yo'ng I feel moch bad for cause I got crooked back. But when I old I think there is good in it. A strong man is lak a moose. Wa! So big and swift and 'an'some. All tam so busy, got no tam t'ink wit' his head inside. So w'en he get old his son put him down. He is poor then.

But a weak man he got notin' to do but look lak eagle at ev'ryt'ing and remember what he see. So w'en he is old he rich inside. W'en a man get old bad turn to good. Me, w'en I was yo'ng I sore for cause no woman want me. Now I glad I got no old wife beat a drum wit' her tongue in my teepee."

"Women! You're right there!" cried Sam explosively. "They're no good.

They're savages! Women confuse and weaken a man; spoil him for a man's work. I'm done with them!"

A slow smile lighted Musq'oosis ugly old face. "W'en a man talk lak that," he remarked, "I t'ink pretty soon some woman goin' get him sure."

"Never!" cried Sam. "Not me!"

"I t'ink so," persisted Musq'oosis. "Man say woman bad, all bad. Come a woman smile so sweet, he surprise; he say this one different from the ot'ers."

"Oh, I know how it is with most fellows!" admitted Sam. "Not with me.

I've had my lesson."

"Maybe," agreed Musq'oosis, politely allowing the matter to drop.

By and by the old man yawned. "I t'ink I sleep little while," he said.

"Can I sleep by your fire?"

"Sure!" returned Sam. "Make yourself at home."

Musq'oosis brought his blanket from the dugout. "You goin' sleep, too?" he asked.

"In a bit," replied Sam uneasily.

"Where your blanket?"

"Oh, I lost that, too," confessed Sam, blushing.

"I got a rabbit-skin robe," said Musq'oosis.

Returning to his boat, he brought Sam one of the soft, light coverings peculiar to the country. The foundation was a wide-meshed net of cord, to which had been tied hundreds of the fragile, downy pelts. Sam could stick his finger anywhere through the interstices, yet it was warmer than a blanket, double its weight.

"But this is valuable," protested Sam. "I can't take it."

"You goin' to the head of the lake," said Musq'oosis. "I want trade it at French outfit store. Tak' it to Mahwoolee, the trader. Say to him Musq'oosis send it for trade."

"Aren't you afraid I might steal it?" asked Sam curiously.

"Steal?" said the old man, surprised. "n.o.body steal here. What's the use? Everything is known. If a man steal everybody know it. Where he goin' to go then?"

Sam continued to protest against using the robe, but Musq'oosis, waving his objections aside, calmly lay down in his blanket and closed his eyes. Sam presently followed suit. The rabbit-skin robe acted like a charm. A delicious warmth crept into his weary bones, and sleep overmastered his senses like a delicious perfume.

When he awoke the sun was high over the lake, and Musq'oosis had gone.

A bag of tobacco was lying in his place.

At this era the "settlement" at the head of Caribou Lake consisted of the "French outfit," the "company post," the French Mission, the English Mission, and the police barracks, which last housed as many as three troopers.

These various establishments were strung around the sh.o.r.e of Beaver Bay for a distance of several miles. A few native shacks were attached to each. The princ.i.p.al group of buildings was comprised in the company post, which stood on a hill overlooking the bay, and still wore a military air, though the palisades had been torn down these many years.

The French outfit, the rival concern, was a much humbler affair. It stood half-way on the short stream which connects Beaver Bay with the lake proper, and was the first establishment reached by the traveller from outside. It consisted of two little houses built of lumber from the mission sawmill; the first house contained the store, the other across the road was known as the "Kitchen."

Mahooley pointed to them with pride as the only houses north of the landing built of boards, but they had a sad and awkward look there in the wilderness, notwithstanding.

Within the store of the French outfit, Stiffy, the trader, was audibly totting up his accounts in his little box at the rear, while Mahooley, his a.s.sociate, sat with his chair tipped back and his heels on the cold stove. Their proper names were Henry Stiff and John Mahool, but as Stiffy and Mahooley they were known from Miwasa Landing to Fort Ochre.

The shelves of the store were sadly depleted; never was a store open for business with so little in it. A few canned goods of ancient vintages and a bolt or two of coloured cotton were all that could be seen. Nevertheless, the French outfit was a factor to be reckoned with.

There was no fur going now, and the astute Stiffy and Mahooley were content to let custom pa.s.s their door. Later on they would reach out for it.

Mahooley was bored and querulous. This was the dullest of dull seasons, for the natives were off pitching on their summer grounds, and travel from the outside world had not yet started.

Stiffy and Mahooley were a pair of "good hard guys," but here the resemblance ended. Stiffy was dry, scanty-haired, mercantile; Mahooley was noisy, red-faced, of a fleshly temperament, and a wag, according to his lights.

"I'd give a dollar for a new newspaper," growled Mahooley.

"That's you, always grousin' for nothin' to do!" said his partner.

"Why don't you keep busy like me?"

"Say, if I was like you I'd walk down to the river here and I'd get in the scow and I'd push off, and when I got in the middle I'd say, 'Lord, crack this nut if you can! It's too much for me!' and I'd step off."

"Ah, shut up! You've made me lose a whole column!"

"Go to h.e.l.l!"

Thus they bickered endlessly to pa.s.s the time.

Suddenly the door opened and a stranger entered, a white man.

As a rule, the slightest disturbance of their routine was heralded in advance by "moccasin telegraph," and this was like a bolt from the blue. Mahooley's chair came to the floor with a thump.

"Well, I'm d.a.m.ned!" he said, staring.

Stiffy came quickly out of his little box to see what was up.

"How are you?" began the stranger youth diffidently.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" asked Mahooley.