A PROPOSITION
It was a gala day at the trading post of Walter McClaren, Hudson’s Bay
Factor; a day for feasting and story-telling. For Dick Kent and Sandy
McClaren had come back from the far north.
In the big dining room the factor’s old Indian housekeeper and cook
hovered about a long table loaded with the best products of her culinary
art. Her stoic face could scarcely conceal the pleasure she derived from
witnessing the seemingly insatiable appetites of her master’s nephew and
his chum.
Walter McClaren, a big florid Scotchman, sat at the head of the table
beaming upon the boys and recalling his own boyhood days. He believed
boys should have plenty of excitement and outdoor experience, and as he
listened to the ceaseless recounting of their recent adventures with the
Eskimos, his smile grew broader and broader, while the roast turkey and
dressing vanished along with sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, stewed
cranberries, and chocolate pudding.
“We just caught the boat going south,” Dick said between bites. “If we’d
been a day later we’d have been held up more than a month before another
boat came.”
“I think you fellows have been pretty lucky,” rejoined Sandy’s uncle.
“If I’d known for a minute what I was sending you into, I’d never let
you go.”
“But I’m glad we went,” returned Sandy. “I wouldn’t go through it again
for anything, but just the same after it’s all over, I wouldn’t trade
the experience for—for a commission in the mounted police.”
“That just reminds me that from what Inspector Dunbar says, you fellows
are slated for some kind of a special medal or something for your
services in the Arctic.”
“Medals!” Dick was alive in an instant, his half-eaten turkey drum stick
forgotten for the moment. “You don’t mean that, Uncle Sandy!”
“Well, it must be a fact, if Inspector Dunbar said so,” replied the
factor. “But that’s not just exactly what I want to discuss with you
fellows,” continued the old Scotchman, knocking out his pipe on a leg of
his chair and refilling it. “I have a proposition for you.”
“A proposition!” exclaimed Dick. “What is it now. A lost mine? Buried
treasure? Outlaws? Missing men?”
“Hurry up. Tell us what it really is,” Sandy exclaimed, alive with
interest.
“Well, you’ll have to give me a chance to talk then,” Mr. McClaren came
back patiently. “And Dick hasn’t guessed what the proposition is. It’s
not as profitable as lost mines or buried treasure, nor as dangerous as
hunting outlaws, but more entertaining than hunting missing men. There’s
money in it, some excitement and a chance to make good with one of the
greatest organizations in the world.”
Dick and Sandy were begging now, for their interest certainly had been
intrigued. So engrossed had they become in what the proposition was
going to be that they even forgot to eat, sitting there with their
mouths open and loaded fork half suspended.
“The proposition is this,” the factor stated. “I’m thinking of starting
a branch fur-trading post near Great Slave Lake and I need some
enterprising ambitious men to help out. There’s some bad competition—a
free trader in that region, but I think he’ll be some careful what he
does to any of the Hudson’s Bay Company men.”
“Gee, do you want us to be fur-traders?” Sandy interrogated.
“That’s about the size of it, boys,” Sandy’s uncle replied. “I’m sending
one man up who is an expert on furs, and there’ll be a mounted police
post established there. You boys can help with the trading, and can hunt
and fish and trap all you like. It will be a real vacation from the hard
job you had in the Arctic.”
“It’s beginning to look good to me already,” Dick spoke eagerly. “What
do you say, Sandy?”
“I’m for it if you are,” replied Dick’s chum, “and we can take Toma
along.”
The young Indian who had remained impassive during the conversation,
brightened at Sandy’s words and his dusky face was split by a huge grin.
He had been afraid of being left out of the plans and was now much
relieved.
The factor signaled the old Indian housekeeper. “Pour us all some more
coffee,” he directed. “I’m going to propose a toast.”
Dick and Sandy exchanged glances. What was the toast going to be, they
wondered.
When the coffee cups were all filled and creamed and sugared, the old
factor stood up and the boys did likewise. Lifting his cup high over his
head, Mr. McClaren said:
“Here’s to the health of Dick Kent, fur trader, and may he never buy a
pelt that sheds or trade a rifle for a black cat’s hide thinking it’s a
black fox skin.”
The boys burst out laughing, but touched cups with Sandy’s uncle and
drank the toast.
“Now let me give a toast,” Dick spoke up.
“Go ahead,” Mr. McClaren agreed.
Assuming a gallant pose, Dick upraised his cup and said solemnly:
“Here’s to Factor McClaren the best sport in the world and the jolliest
bachelor.”
It was Walter McClaren’s turn to laugh, and his big voice shook the very
log beams of the dining room.
Sandy was about to propose another toast, when there came a knock at the
door.
The factor motioned the housekeeper to open the door. All eyes turned to
see the visitor. Into the living room of the cabin stamped a tall man,
resplendent in the scarlet coat of the mounted.
“Hello there, Corporal McCarthy,” shouted the boys, recognizing the
leader of their recent expedition.
The Corporal paused in the doorway leading into the dining room. He
returned the boys’ greetings in kind, then drew himself up to attention,
proudly displaying the medals on his chest, and saluted:
“Inspector Dunbar requests the presence of Dick Kent and Sandy
McClaren,” announced the Corporal solemnly and impressively, “for
presentation of special decorations in reward for their Arctic services
with the Royal Northwest Mounted Police!”
Dick whistled, Sandy gasped, and both blushed, then Corporal McCarthy
came around and shook their hands, slapping them on the back heartily,
while Sandy’s uncle added his sincere congratulations.
“But what about Toma?” Dick asked the Corporal, when he had recovered
from his embarrassment. “Is he left out?”
“S-s-h. The Inspector has a surprise for him,” whispered the Corporal.
“A brand new 22 High Power rifle.”
So did the King’s policemen make happy hearts of their loyal and daring
young servants.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--Added a Table of Contents based on chapter headings.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
End of Project Gutenberg's Dick Kent with the Eskimos, by Milton Richards