That night Towaskook visited David at his camp, a little up the
river, to see what he could get out of the white man. He was monstrously
fat--fat from laziness; and David wondered how he had managed to put in
his hours of labour under the totem pole. David sat in silence, trying
to make out something from their gestures, as his half-breed, Jacques,
and the old chief talked.
Jacques repeated it all to him after Towaskook, sighing deeply, had
risen from his squatting posture, and left them. It was a terrible
journey over those mountains, Towaskook had said. He had been on the
Stikine once. He had split with his tribe, and had started eastward with
many followers, but half of them had died--died because they would not
leave their precious totems behind--and so had been caught in a deep
snow that came early. It was a ten-day journey over the mountains. You
went up above the clouds--many times you had to go above the clouds. He
would never make the journey again. There was one chance--just one. He
had a young bear hunter, Kio, his face was still smooth. He had not won
his spurs, so to speak, and he was anxious to perform a great feat,
especially as he was in love with his medicine man's daughter
Kwak-wa-pisew (the Butterfly).
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