“All right,” ejaculated Ben. “I’m the boss, then. I’ll give you work enough.”
The first thing was to finish their cabin and set some traps. Ben taught Jan and Bentley how to commence, and was pleased to find them apt at the business. Jan did not lack for intelligence and his wits were sharpening by contact with the keen trapper and the volatile Frenchman. The latter needed very little instruction, for he had received his education in the cold region of British America, under the fostering care of the Hudson Bay Company, then in its glory, but suffering from the enterprise of the North-west Company, which had sprung up about this time under the lead of the enterprising German, Jacob Astor. But, Ben Miffin could never submit to be a hanger-on to any company, and his trapping was done on his own hook. The ground he had chosen for his labors was new. As has been said, no other white man’s foot had trod it before.
When the hut was completed they built a cache to hold their furs and food. This was necessary. The wolves were numerous and ravenous, and would strip any trap of its contents in a moment. This last labor completed, they started out on a hunt, leaving Bentley in charge of the camp, and of Millicent. An hour’s ride brought them to the level prairie, dotted here and there by low clumps of trees. Ben paused, and his quick eye swept the vast plain from side to side. At last his eye brightened and he stretched out his right hand to the east.
“Buffler!” he said.
They followed the direction of his finger, but Jan could see nothing.
“I dinks dat ish von lie, Penn. I does not see von puffalo.”
“Course ye don’t,” said Ben, contemptuously. “’Tain’t to be expected ye kin, nohow. Does ye see them black spots, close down to the edge of the prairie, over yonder?”
“Yaw; I sees dem,” replied Jan.
“Oh, ye do. Waal, them’s buffler.”
“Ish dey goot to eat?”