I
"So the little King Georgeman comes to-morrow, eh, Tillicum?" asked
the old Lillooet hunter.
"Yes, comes for all summer," replied "Banty" Clark, "and I've got to be
polite and show him around, and, I suppose, stay in the ranch house all
the hot weather while his nibs togs up in his London clothes, 'don't yer
know,' and drinks five-o'clock tea, and does nothing but stare at the
toes of his patent leather shoes. Pshaw! What a prospect! Ever see
patent leather shoes, Eena?" asked Banty, with some disgust.
"I don't know, me. I think not," replied The Eena.
"You're lucky," went on Banty. "But my cousin's sure to wear them,
and they're spoil-sport things, I can tell you! No salmon fishing,
no mountaineering, no hunting while they're around. But, Eena, why
do you call my cousin a King Georgeman?"
"It is the Chinook for what you call an Englishman," replied the Indian.
"Why, what a dandy idea!" exclaimed the boy. "I think I shall like my
cousin better because of that Chinook term. I can even go the patent
leather shoes; I believe I'd almost wear them myself to be called a King
Georgeman."
"You'll like your Ow" (Ow is Chinook for young cousin or brother),
encouraged The Eena. "King Georgeman all good sport, all same fine
fellows, learn Indian ways quick."
"I hope you're right," said Banty, a little doubtfully, for, truth to
tell, he had small liking of the idea of a brand-new English cousin on
his hands for the summer, a Londoner at that, who knew nothing of even
the English country, let alone the wilderness of mountains, canyons,
and the endless forests of British Columbia. Poor Banty had been so
accustomed to chum about with the old Lillooet hunter whom he had
nicknamed "The Eena" (which is the Chinook for "Beaver") that the
thought of a perfect outsider breaking into their companionship for
all the holidays was little short of misery.
But the next day when Banty drove down to Kamloops to meet the train,
and his cousin stepped from the sleeper on to the station platform,
things looked worse than threatened misery. The future loomed before him
like a tragedy; he almost groaned aloud, for swinging towards him with a
loose-jointed English gait was a tall, yellow-haired chap, the size of
a man, with a face sea-tanned between a pink and a brown, his long neck
encircled with a very high, very stiff collar, his light grey suit
pressed as if it had just arrived from the tailor's, and poor Banty's
quick eye flew from the smiling pink face to the faultlessly-trousered
legs--horrors! The trousers were _long_. (Banty had at least expected
a boy of his own size and age.) But, worst of all, below the trousers
gleamed immaculate shoes of patent leather!
"I'm glad Eena didn't come," moaned Banty. "If he'd seen _this_, he
would have steered clear of the ranch for weeks." Then, bracing himself
like a man, he went forward with outstretched hand to greet his
unwelcome relative. The English lad blushed like a girl as he met his
Canadian cousin, but his handclasp was decidedly masculine as his soft
London voice said: "Awfully good of you to come and fetch me, don't
you know. I suppose you're my Cousin Bantmore?"
"'Banty,'" was all the stricken boy could reply.
"Oh, good! I like that, 'Banty.' That's a great name!" exclaimed the
tall Britisher. "You're lucky! What would you do if you were handicapped
with a tag like mine--Constantine--with all the dubs at school calling
you 'Tiny' for short, while you stood a good five feet nine in your
socks? Isn't it dreadful?"
Instantly Banty found his heart warming towards this big pink cousin,
who bore with such sturdy good humor the affliction of such a terrible
name. "It _is_ bad," he assented, "but it might be doctored. Haven't you
got a middle name?"
"It's worse," grinned the victim. "It's St. Ives. I tried it on the
second term, and the crowd called me 'Ivy,' and one smartie sent me a
piece of blue ribbon to tie my yellow curls with--he wrote _that_ in
an insulting note."
"What'd you do?" gasped Banty.
"Licked him in full view of the whole school, and he was a senior;
trimmed him till he couldn't see," was the smiling reply.
"Good boy!" almost shouted Banty. "You're the stuff for out West. I'm
glad you came."
"I'm glad, too," answered his cousin, "but I'll be 'gladder' if you will
tell me where I can get some togs like yours. I declare, but I like that
outfit," and he looked enviously at Banty's leather chaps, blue flannel
shirt, scarlet silk neckerchief and cowboy hat.
"These duds?" questioned Banty. "Oh, you can get them anywhere. They'd
hardly suit you, though." And he measured the stranger with a critical
eye.
"Suit or not, I'm going to have them," said "Con"--as his genial father
called him. "Let's go right to the shops and get an outfit now."
So Banty tied up the horses, stowed the luggage away in the afterpart of
the trap, and led the way to the trader's.
When they started for the ranch, Con had, in addition to his English
bags, boxes, shawl-straps and portmanteaus, a most beautiful outfit of
typical Western finery, a handsome Mexican saddle, a crop, a quirt,
fringed gauntlet gloves, chaps, Stetson hat, silk handkerchief, ties,
and three pairs of sporting and riding boots.
"We'll put these patent leathers gently into the river, or on a shelf,
until I face the East again," he said, half apologetically. Then with a
quick burst of English simplicity, he said: "Oh, Banty, I want to be one
of you!"
"And you're going to be one of us," said that sturdy young Westerner.
"In fact, Con--well, you just _are_ one of us," he added.
The lanky, pink-faced boy grew pinker.
"I know I'm an awful length and all that," he said, "but I'm only
sixteen, don't you know!"
Banty grinned. The "Don't you know," which at first horrified him, was,
oddly enough, growing to be almost fascinating. Banty would have felt
himself an awful owl were he to say it, but it somehow suited the tall,
pink boy, and did not sound one particle "dudish," or offensive, and
during the ten-mile drive across the Kamloops Hills Banty decided that
Con was a first-rate fellow, notwithstanding his abominable clothes and
"swagger" English accent. At the ranch house door they were greeted
by Banty's parents and a couple of range riders, and Eena, who,
Indian-like, never revealed the fact by word or look that he had
observed the patent leather shoes, and the wonderful high collar; who,
also Indian-like, in spite of these drawbacks, liked the stranger
without cause, a peculiar instinct of liking that came when the young
King Georgeman shook hands with him, a wholesome British "shake" that
engendered confidence.
"You will be tired, Constantine," said Mrs. Clark, with motherly care,
"and not accustomed to this extreme heat. Come at once and rest. I have
made a great jug of lemonade. Do come in at once."
"If it's all the same to you, aunt, may I have some tea? And do _please_
call me 'Con,'" he replied. No shadow of expression crossed The Eena's
face, but when Mrs. Clark had led Con indoors, the Indian turned to
Banty and remarked quietly, "You're right some ways; he wants tea, and
the sun shines in his shoes, but he good King Georgeman all same, I
know, me."
"Guess you're right, Eena," said Banty. "There's something about him
that's fine, just fine and simple and--English." The Indian nodded and
he made but one more comment. "He brave," he muttered.
"How do you know that?" asked Banty.
"The--what you name it? I think you call it _nostril_ of his nose long,
thin, fine. That shows brave people. When nostril just round and thick
like bullet-hole it shows coward."
Banty laughed aloud, but all the same his fingers flew to his own
nostrils, and notwithstanding his merriment he was gratified to find
fairly long, narrow breathing spaces at the edge of his own nose.
"What queer old ideas your people have, Eena," he commented.
"But it's right, even if queer," smiled the Indian. "You see, maybe this
summer, Indian's right about that nose."
But Mrs. Clark and Con were now returning, Con having swallowed his tea,
and, looking refreshed by it, he settled himself in a porch chair,
stretched out his long legs and thoughtfully regarded the toes of his
patent leathers. Banty grinned openly, but The Eena gravely shook his
head, and, with the tip of his little finger, touched his own fine,
narrow nostril. Banty understood, but then he and The Eena always
understood each other, and now the boy knew that the old hunter meant to
remind him of the best qualities of his English cousin, and to overlook
the little oddities that after all did not carry weight when it came to
a boy's character.
"King Georgeman, you come with me to-morrow, me fish, or hunt?" asked
the Indian, his solemn eyes regarding Con kindly. Banty explained the
term "King Georgeman."
"Indeed I will, if you'll have me!" exclaimed Con, excitedly. "I've
bought some decent clothes, and will look fitter in them than I do
in these togs. Don't I look bally in them?"
"I not sabe 'bally,' me," answered the Indian.
The pink King Georgeman looked puzzled.
"He means he doesn't understand what 'bally' is," explained Banty.
Con laughed. "Tell him that _I'm_ 'bally,' in these clothes; he'll grasp
then what a fearful thing 'bally' means."
It was that remark, "poking fun" at his own appearance, that thoroughly
won Banty's loyalty to his cousin from over seas. A chap that could
openly laugh and jeer at his own peculiarities must surely be a good
sort, so forthwith Banty pitched in heart and soul to arrange all kinds
of excursions and adventures, and The Eena planned and suggested, until
it seemed that all the weeks stretching out into the holiday months were
to be one long round of sport and pleasure in honor of the lanky King
Georgeman, who was so anxious to fall easily into the ways of the West.
Just as The Eena predicted, Con proved an able fisherman and excellent
"trailsman." He could stay in the saddle for hours, could go without
food or sleep, had the endurance of a horse and the good nature of a big
romping kitten. He was generous and unselfish, but with a spontaneous
English temper that blazed forth whenever he saw the weak wronged or the
timid terrified.
"I'll never make a really good hunter, Eena," he regretted one day, "I
can't bear to gallop on a big cayuse after a little scared jack rabbit,
and run him down and kill him when he's so little and doesn't try to
fight me with his claws or fangs like a lynx will do. It's not a fair
deal."
"But when one camps many leagues from the ranch house, one must eat,"
observed the Indian.
"Yes, that's the pity of it," agreed Con, "but it seems to me a poor
sort of game to play at."
Nevertheless he did his part towards providing food when they all went
camping up in the timberline in August, and frequently he, Banty and the
Indian would go out by themselves on a three or four days' expedition
away from the main camp, "grubbing" themselves and living the lives of
semi-savages. And it was upon one of these adventures that the three
got separated in some way, Banty and the Indian reaching camp a little
before sunset, and waiting in vain for Con's appearance while the hours
slipped by, and they called and shouted, and fired innumerable shots
thinking to guide him campwards, while they little knew that all the
gold in British Columbia could not have brought Con's feet to enter that
little tent for many days to come; that with all his newborn affection
for Banty, Con would make him most unwelcome should chance bring them
face to face again.