“He claims to be a medicine man?” asked Louis.
“Aye, a mighty one, with all sorts of wakan. He is teaching a picked few rascals of them a new medicine dance. They will dance and powwow till near the dawn, then Murray will feast them and fill them full of rum.”
“But why?”
“Why? He’s a free trader, that Murray, a clever one and not particular about his methods, his boasts that he got his start by stealing pemmican from the Hudson Bay Company and then selling it back to them, through a friend, for trade goods. If he can make those foolish savages look up to him and fear him as a great witan wishasha, he can do anything he likes with them in the way of trade. He has sold them a lot of medicines already, charms against evil spirits and injury in battle, charms to give them power over their enemies and the beasts they hunt.” The tall man changed the subject abruptly. “You have horses and carts and goods with you?” he demanded.
“No trade goods, except a few little things for presents. But we have two carts loaded with our personal things, and four good horses, and an Eskimo dog.”
“You will have none of them by sunrise,” was the grim response, “if you stay here. Murray is not the man to let all that slip through his fingers.”
“Then why did he let us leave the camp?”
“And why not? He can put his hand on you whenever he likes. In a few hours he will have plenty of drunken savages to do his will.”
Walter shivered. He was thinking, not of himself, but of Elise and Mrs. Brabant and the children.
As they drew near the camp, Neil, gun in hand, sprang up from the ground, where he had been lying, watching their approach. He had been worried because, instead of two only, he could make out three men and a horse.