The Fur Bringers Part 12

She strolled to the sofa and sat down. Ambrose idly closed the book and sat down across the room from her. Gaviller glanced from one to another--perhaps it was a little too well done. But his face instantly resumed its customary affability.

"Nothing serious," he said. "He is quite all right again."

Ambrose was tormented by the desire to laugh. He dared not meet Colina's eye. "It is terrible to lose a valuable animal up here," he said demurely.

After a few desultory polite exchanges Ambrose got up to go. "I was waiting to say good night to you," he explained.

"You are camping down the river, I believe."

"Half a mile below the English mission. I paddled up."

"I'll walk to the edge of the bank with you," said Gaviller politely.

As in nearly all company posts there was a flag-pole in the most conspicuous spot on the river-bank. It was halfway between Gaviller's house and the store. At the foot of the pole was a lookout-bench worn smooth by generations of sitters.

Leaving the house after a formal good night to Colina, Ambrose was escorted as far as the bench by John Gaviller. The trader held forth amiably upon the weather and crops. They paused.

"Sit down for a moment," said Gaviller. "I have something particular to say to you."

Ambrose suspected what was coming. But humming with happiness like a top as he was, he could not feel greatly concerned.

Still in the same calm, polite voice Gaviller said:

"I confess I was astonished at your a.s.surance in coming to my house."

This was a frank declaration of war. Ambrose, steeling himself, replied warily: "I did not come on business."

"What did you come for?"

Ambrose did not feel obliged to be as frank with father as with daughter. "I am merely looking at the country."

"Well, now that you have seen Fort Enterprise," said Gaviller dryly, "you may go on or go back. I do not care so long as you do not linger."

Ambrose frowned. "If you were a younger man--" he began.

"You need not consider my age," said Gaviller.

Ambrose measured his man. He had to confess he had good pluck. The idea of a set-to with Colina's father was unthinkable. There was nothing for him to do but swallow the affront. He bethought himself of using a little guile.

"Why shouldn't I come here?" he demanded.

"I don't like the way you and your partner do business," said Gaviller.

There was nothing to be gained by a wordy dispute, but Ambrose was only human. "You are sore because we smashed the company's monopoly at Moultrie," he said.

"Not at all," said Gaviller calmly. "The trade is free to all. What little you have taken from us is not noticeable in the whole volume.

But you have deliberately set to work to destroy what it has taken two centuries to build up--the white man's supremacy. You breed trouble among the Indians. You make them insolent and dangerous."

"Company talk," said Ambrose scornfully. "A man can make himself believe what he likes. We treat the Indians like human beings. Around us they're doing well for the first time. Here, where you have your monopoly, they're sick and starving!"

"That is not true," said Gaviller coolly. "And, in any case, I do not mean to discuss my business with you. I deal openly. You had the opportunity to do my daughter a slight service. I have repaid it with my hospitality. We are quits. I now warn you not to show your face here again."

"I shall do as I see fit," said Ambrose doggedly.

"You compel me to speak still more plainly," said Gaviller. "If you are found on the Company's property again, you will be thrown off."

"You cannot frighten me with threats," said Ambrose.

"You are warned!" said Gaviller. He strode off to his house.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN AMBROSE'S CAMP.

Ambrose was awakened in his mosquito-tent by an alarm from Job. The sun was just up, and it was therefore no more than three o'clock. A visitor was approaching in a canoe.

In the North a caller is a caller. Ambrose crept out of his blankets and, swallowing his yawns, stuck his head in the river to clear his brain.

The visitor was a handsome young breed of Ambrose's own age. Ambrose surveyed his broad shoulders, his thin, graceful waist and thighs approvingly. He rejoiced in an animal built for speed and endurance.

Moreover, the young man's glance was direct and calm. This was a native who respected himself.

"Tole Grampierre, me," he said, offering his hand.

Ambrose grasped it. "I'm Ambrose Doane," he said.

"I know," said the young breed. "Las' night I go to the store. The boys say Ambrose Doane, the free-trader, is camp' down the river. So I talk wit' my fat'er. I say I go and shake Ambrose Doane by the hand."

"Will you eat?" said Ambrose. "It is early."

"When you are ready," answered Tole politely. "I come early. I go back before they get up at the fort. If old man Gaviller know I come to you it mak' trouble. My fat'er he got trouble enough wit' Gaviller."

Tole squatted on the beach. There is an established ritual of politeness in the North, and he was punctilious.

"You are well?" he asked gravely. Ambrose set about making his fire.

"I am well," he said.

"Your partner, he is well?"

"Peter Minot is well."

"You do good trade at Lake Miwasa?"

"Yes. Marten is plentiful."

"Good fur here, too. Not much marten; plenty link."