"Only you come, Mis'r Mac; only you an' squaws."
I restrained my companions with difficulty from rushing at him to choke back the objectionable epithet; then an idea struck me. I wanted "Cap" Campbell and Mackay, my adjoining burrowers in the frozen gravel, to accompany me; they had shared with us the plodding uncertainty of things at Skookum Gulch, and I wanted them to reap some of the benefits attached to the discovery of the mysteriously-famed "Gold Bottom" before the district was rushed. I could hardly doubt that King James's information was correct, and the specimen given me was sufficient for even the most incredulous-minded person. The inducement was very real indeed, but the chief would only allow Mis'r Mac an' squaws.
"All right, King James," I said, "but I have two more squaws." He eyed me with a look that was fast changing from one of mere friendliness to one of much respect.
"You great man, Mis'r Mac," he grunted. "Four squaws? Ugh!"
When he saw the brawny giants that Mac hastily called in, his surprise was unbounded. "Good squaws," he chuckled.
"What in tarnation does the old skunk mean?" said Mackay, and Campbell's anger was rising visibly.
"Look here, boys," I said. "King James has told me of a creek that is lined with gold, and this is a sample"—I showed them the specimen received. "He asks me to go and take charge of the lot, but only myself and squaws. You had better be squaws for once in your lives. Savez?"
They did "savez," and made every effort to show their cordiality to the King, who appreciated their advances with tolerant grace, but grinned expansively when he saw their well-filled cartridge-belts.
Stewart made a triumphant success of his cooking that day, and in honour of the occasion he filled the little "doughboys" with pieces of dried apricots and peaches, and, indeed, everything in that line our larder afforded. So luxurious a repast did he provide that King James sighed regretfully when he rose to go.