Two men, of two different tribes, wanted same woman; quarrelled;
fought; one got his blamed head busted; tribes took it up; raised hell
for a time--all over that rag of a woman! Terrible creatures, women
were. He emphasized his belief in short, biting snatches of words, as
though afraid of wearing out his breath or his vocabulary or both. Maybe
his teeth had something to do with it. Where the two were missing he
carried the stem of his pipe, and when he talked the stem clicked, like
a Castanet.
David had come at a propitious moment--a "most propichus moment,"
Hatchett told him. He had done splendidly that winter. His bargains with
the Indians had been sharp and exceedingly profitable for the Company
and as soon as he got his furs off to Fort McMurray on their way to
Edmonton he was going on a long journey of inspection, which was his
reward for duty well performed. His fur barges were ready. All they were
waiting for was the breaking up of the ice, when the barges would start
up the Athabasca, which meant _south_; while he, in his big war canoe,
would head up the Peace, which meant _west_. He was going as far as
Hudson's Hope, and this was within two hundred and fifty miles of where
David wanted to go.
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