RELEASED FROM BONDAGE
Tammas, Samuel, and Amos, who had spent the day caribou hunting, but
had killed nothing, were gathered around the stove engaged in a heated
argument as to whether a caribou would or would not charge a man when
at close quarters, when Paul and Dan entered with the visitors.
“Weel! Weel!” exclaimed Tammas, rising. “If ’tis no Charley Amesbury
and John Buck wi’ the laddies!”
Amesbury and Ahmik were old visitors at the post. Every one knew them
and gave them a most hearty welcome. Even Chuck, who was mixing
biscuit for supper, wiped his dough-debaubed right hand upon his
trousers, that he might offer it to the visitors, and Jerry, who lived
with his family in a little nearby cabin, and had seen them pass, came
over to greet them.
Amesbury warned the lads to say nothing of their plan to the post
folk. “I’ll break the news gently to Davy MacTavish when the time is
ripe for it,” said he. “You fellows keep right at your work as though
you were to stay here forever.” And therefore no mention was made of
the arrangement to Tammas and the others.
During the days that followed Amesbury and Ahmik made some purchases
at the post shop, including the provisions necessary for the return
journey to their trapping grounds. They had no debt here, and
therefore bartered pelts to pay for their purchases. Their trading
completed, Amesbury produced two particularly fine marten skins, and
laid them upon the counter. “I’ve got everything I need,” said he,
“but I don’t want to carry these back with me. How much’ll you give?”
“Trade or cash?” asked MacTavish, examining them critically.
“Trade. Give me credit for ’em. I may want something more before I
go.”
“Ten dollars each.”
“Not this time. They’re prime, and they’re worth forty dollars apiece
in Winnipeg.”
“This isn’t Winnipeg.”
“Give them back. They’re light to pack, and I guess I’ll take them to
Winnipeg.”
But MacTavish was gloating over them. They were glossy black,
remarkably well furred, the flesh side clean and white.
“They are pretty fair martens,” he said finally, as though weighing
the matter. “I may do a little better; say fifteen dollars.”
“I’ll take them to Winnipeg.”
“You can’t get Winnipeg prices here.”
“No, but I don’t have to sell them here. I thought if you’d give me
half what they’re worth I’d let you have them. You can keep them for
twenty dollars each. Not a cent less.”
“Can’t do it, but I’ll say as a special favor to you eighteen
dollars.”
“Hand them back. I’m not an Indian.”
“You know I’d not give an Indian over five dollars.”
“I know that, but I don’t ask for a debt. You see I’m pretty free to
do as I please. Hand ’em back.”
But the pelts were too good for MacTavish to let pass him, and after a
show of hesitancy he placed them upon the shelf behind him and said
reluctantly:
“They’re not worth it, but I’ll allow you twenty dollars each for
them. But it’s a very special favor.”
“Needn’t if you don’t want them. I wouldn’t bankrupt the company for
the world.”
“I’ll take them.”
The bargain concluded, Amesbury strolled away, humming:
“‘A diller, a dollar,
A ten o’clock scholar,
What makes you come so soon?
You used to come at ten o’clock,
But now you come at noon,’”
and MacTavish glared after him.
It was a busy week at the post. Day after day picturesque Indians came
in, hauling long, narrow toboggans, pitching their tepees near by,
and crowding the shop during daylight hours bartering away their early
catch of pelts for necessary and unnecessary things.
Paul and Dan kept steadily at their tasks. Amesbury made no further
reference to the arrangement he had made with them until New Year’s
eve, when he strolled over to the woodpile toward sundown, where they
were hard at work, humming, as he watched them make the last cut in a
stick of wood:
“‘If I’d as much money as I could spend,
I never would cry ‘old chairs to mend,
Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend;’
I never would cry ‘old chairs to mend.’”
When they laid down the saw to place another stick on the buck, he
said:
“Never mind that. You chaps come along with me, and we’ll pay our
respects to Mr. MacTavish.”
“Oh, have you told him we were going? I was almost afraid you’d
forgotten it!” exclaimed Paul exultantly.
“Never a word. Reserved the entertainment for an audience, and you
fellows are to be the audience. Come along; he’s in his office now,”
and Amesbury strode toward the office, Paul and Dan expectantly
following.
MacTavish glanced up from his desk as they entered, and nodding to
Amesbury, who had advanced to the center of the room, noticed Paul and
Dan near the door.
“What are you fellows knocking off work at this time of day for? Get
back to work, and if you want anything, come around after hours.”
“They’ve knocked off for good,” Amesbury answered for them, his eyes
reflecting amusement. “They’re going trapping with me up Indian Lake
way. I’m sorry to deprive you of them, but I guess I’ll have to.”
“What!” roared MacTavish, jumping to his feet. “Are you inducing those
boys to desert? What does this nonsense mean?”
“Yes, they’re going. Sorry you feel so badly at losing their society,
but I don’t see any way out of it.”
“Well, they’re not going.” MacTavish spoke more quietly, but with
determination, glowering at Amesbury. “They have a debt here and they
will stay until it is worked out. They’ve signed articles to remain
here until the debt is worked out, and I will hold them under the
articles. You fellows go back to your work.”
“We’re not going to work for you any more,” said Paul, his anger
rising. “Mr. Amesbury has told you we’re going with him, and we are.”
“Go back to your work, I say, or I’ll have you flogged!” MacTavish was
now in a rage, and he made for the lads as though to strike them, only
to find the ungainly figure of Amesbury in the way.
“Tut! Tut! Big Jack Blunderbuss trying to strike the little
Tiddledewinks! Fine display of courage! But not this time. No
pugilistic encounters with any one but me while I’m around, and my
hands have an awful itch to get busy.”
“None of your interference in the affairs of this post!” bellowed
MacTavish. “You’re breeding mutiny here, and I’ve a mind to run you
off the reservation.”
“Hey diddle diddle,” broke in Amesbury, who had not for a moment lost
his temper, and who fairly oozed good humor. “This isn’t seemly in a
man in your position, MacTavish. Now let’s be reasonable. Sit down and
talk the matter over.”
“There’s nothing to talk over with you!” shouted MacTavish, who
nevertheless resumed his seat.
“Well, now, we’ll see.” Amesbury drew a chair up, sat down in front of
MacTavish, and leaning forward assumed a confidential attitude. “In
the first place,” he began, “the lads owe a debt, you say, and you
demand that it be paid.”
“They can’t leave here until it is paid! They can’t leave anyhow!”
still in a loud voice.
“No, no; of course not. That’s what we’ve got to talk about. I’ll pay
the debt. Now, how much is it?”
“That won’t settle it. They both signed on here for at least six
months, at three dollars a month, and they’ve got to stay the six
months.”
“Now you know, MacTavish, they are both minors and under the law they
are not qualified to make such a contract with you. Even were they of
age, there isn’t a court within the British Empire but would adjudge
such a contract unconscionable, and throw it out upon the ground that
it was signed under duress. You couldn’t hire Indians to do the work
these lads have done under twelve dollars a month. In all justice you
owe them a balance, for they’ve more than worked out their debt.”
“I’m the court here, and I’m the judge, and I’m going to keep these
fellows right here.”
“Wrong in this case. There’s no law or court here except the law and
the court of the strong arm. Now I’ve unanimously elected myself
judge, jury and sheriff to deal with this matter. In these various
capacities I’ve decided their debt is paid and they’re going with me.
As their friend and your friend, however, I’ve suggested for the sake
of good feeling that they pay the balance you claim is due you under
the void agreement, and I offer to make settlement in full now. I
believe you claim twelve dollars due from each--twenty-four dollars in
all?”
It was plain that Amesbury had determined to carry out the plan
detailed, with or without the factor’s consent, and finally MacTavish
agreed to release Paul and Dan, and charge the twenty-four dollars
which he claimed still due on their debt against the forty dollars
credited to Amesbury for the two marten skins. He declared, however,
that had he known Amesbury’s intention he would not have accepted a
pelt from him, nor would he have sold Amesbury the provisions
necessary to support him and the lads on their journey to Indian Lake.
“You can never trade another shilling’s worth at this post,” announced
MacTavish as the three turned to the door, “not another shilling’s
worth.”
“Now, now, MacTavish,” said Amesbury, smiling, “you know better. I’ve
a credit here that I’ll come back to trade out, and I’ll have some
nice pelts that you’ll be glad enough to take from me.”
“Not a shilling’s worth,” repeated the factor, whose anger was not
appeased when he heard Amesbury humming, as he passed out of the door:
“‘A diller, a dollar, a ten o’clock scholar,
What made you come so soon?
You used to come at ten o’clock,
But now you come at noon.’”
It was to be expected that MacTavish would refuse them shelter for the
night, but he made no reference to it, probably because in his anger
he forgot to do so, and the following morning, when his wrath had
cooled, he astonished Paul and Dan when he met them with, for him, a
very cheery greeting.
On New Year’s morning Amesbury and Ahmik visited the Indian
encampment, and with little difficulty secured from their Indian
friends two light toboggans for Paul and Dan to use in the
transportation of their equipment.
The day was spent in taking part in snowshoe obstacle races, rifle
matches, and many contests with the Indian visitors, and the evening
in final preparations for departure. In early morning, before the bell
called the post folk to their daily task, they passed out of the men’s
house for the last time. Tammas, Amos and Samuel were sorry to lose
their young friends and assistants, but glad of their good fortune.
“I’ll be missin’ ye, laddies. God bless ye,” said Tammas.
“Aye, God bless ye,” repeated Samuel.
“Hi ’opes you’ll ’ave a pleasant trip. Tyke care of yourselves,” was
Amos’s hearty farewell.
They turned their faces toward the vast dark wilderness to the
westward, redolent with mystery and fresh adventure. Presently the
flickering lights of the post, which a few weeks before they had
hailed so joyously, were lost to view.