The saloon of the Tecumseh House was doing a heavy business that night,
after the noisy supper-hour. I was taken in there, almost by force, to
drink with the crowd, and presently the loose shape of Father Lacombe
loomed large and black, and went by without stopping, but his eyes cast
upon me a glance I could not analyse. One of the lumberers addressed
him, and a laugh went up.
“Says he don’t want to git hit be ye!” called the big man, loosening
his belt. “Might spoil his priestin’ quite a while.”
After the rest and some food I was myself again. Akshelah kept near me
quietly, having done sufficient mischief for one day; but when we three
were alone I tried to scold her for having followed us, only to give
way when she began to cry. MacCaskill was more hard-hearted.
“Allowin’ you’ve had a hard time, you’ve done a silly trick, anyhow.
You’ve done your worst to have young Rupe spoilt and our plans busted.”
“I was lonely,” said the girl defiantly. “And I was unhappy.”
“We all get dolesome,” said the old philosopher, “but we don’t want to
kick against it. The trouble is you got it inter your head to come
along to Gull, where you mighter known the boy would be called on to
fight for ye--”
“I did not know,” began the poor girl, her eyes shining with tears.
“You’ve got your learning now. I guess you’d best set quiet and chew
it. Who came along with you?”
“I came by myself,” said Akshelah proudly. “I left my canoe where
Kinokumisse touches the white sand.”
“You did the portage from Waterhen on foot?”
“Yes,” said Akshelah, as though it were nothing for a young girl to
half-run fifty-seven miles.
“To-morrow you’ve got to get right back again.”
“No,” cried Akshelah, “I will not go, unless you come back to the camp
with me!”
“Him, you mean. You don’t give a darn about me.”
Akshelah was honesty itself.
“Yes, I mean him. I came to find him, because we promised to help one
another; and if he will not have me I shall go home. But I shall not
go to my people. I shall give myself to Muchumeneto at the end of
Kinokumisse.”
I knew that this threat of drowning herself was no idle one, so I
endeavoured to conciliate the wilful maiden.
“You will go back if I tell you.” I intended my voice to be stern. “We
cannot take you with us.”
“I will not. I shall be lonely, and grow old, and you will never come
again. I am coming to mend for you, and I will cook your meat, and
nurse you if you are sick, and sometimes I shall sing to you; and
when you are unhappy I will tell you the story of the little one who
conquered the great beast that the Creator was afraid of, and then you
will be glad again. I will be like the wind, and you cannot stop the
wind from following.”
“Gals are all the same,” said the factor morosely. “I mind Maimie. Tell
her to do a thing she didn’t want, and she’d look up and start to cry,
and I’d weaken and climb down. You bested Jake Peterssen, Rupe, but you
won’t best her.”
“Come here, little squirrel,” was all I said, and Akshelah came like a
sunbeam and sat beside me, while the factor grunted and chopped tobacco.
The owner of the house put his head in suddenly.
“Say! there’s a feller wants to see you, Petrie. Got a message for you,
and he don’t want er stop. He’s standin’ outside.”