“Oh, of course not!” observed Broom with a suggestion of sarcasm in his tone.
“Her father, Delgezie, works for me; he has worked for the Company all his life,” continued Roy severely, his eyes beginning to flash again. “He is a pure-blooded Indian, a faithful servant, a gentle, God-fearing old man, and his daughter, who was orphaned at a very early age, is a very remarkable girl. She was practically brought up by the missionary’s wife at Churchill, you know, and her polite, civilized manner and extraordinary intelligence have attracted great attention and remark from people travelling through the country; and I now warn you: The man who fools with that girl will have me to reckon with.”
The sailor started and glanced at him for an instant under his brows; the veins swelled at his temples, and a dull, angry light came into his eyes. “Oh, he will, will he?” he sneered.
Almost as these words were uttered a dark face was thrust into the room and a voice cried out in Chipewyan. Roy answered in the same language and the face disappeared.
Broom looked enquiringly at the trader, who was pulling on a coat. The angry light was still in Broom’s eyes, but his tone changed very much when he spoke again. “What’s that he says?” he asked, suavely. “I don’t understand that lingo.”
“He says there are Eskimo arriving,” replied Roy shortly; and he went out to watch the approach of the natives.
Then Broom half closed his eyes and an expression of malignant and devilish hatred came over his face. “So you threaten me, my Hudson’s Bay rooster,” he murmured. “Well, you may crow in your own yard, curse you, but don’t crow too loudly, for you don’t own the earth.” Then, gently rubbing his wounded lips, he added, almost in a whisper, and there was a low hiss in the words: “And you shall pay dearly for that blow.”
The wind was fair and the Eskimos came racing before it at a great speed. Relieved of any effort by the wind and sails, the dogs ran beside the flying com-it-uks (Eskimo sleds) in apparent jubilation, while the natives—with the exception of the two required to steer each of these unwieldy, improvised ice-boats—were sitting on the loads with smiles of satisfaction, feeling that all was as it should be. As they neared the Fort the big parchment sails were dropped and the dogs brought into action. The number of dogs attached to each com-it-uk varied, not according to the weight of the load, as one would imagine, but according to the total number possessed by the Eskimos travelling with it. Where dogs were lacking natives dropped into the vacant places and hauled on the “bridles” (traces) as substitutes. The heavily-laden sleds[[1]] were with difficulty dragged to the warehouse where Roy stood, with door wide open, ready to receive them.
The odd commingling of tongues was confusing. Roy was giving occasional sharp orders in Eskimo, and holding scraps of conversation in his own tongue with Broom, whom he had suddenly found standing beside him, while the voluble Sahanderry ran about loudly vociferating in Chipewyan. Added to this was the hum occasioned by the Eskimos speaking among themselves and the chorus of a few dozen dogs.
The new arrivals were all dressed alike in hairy deerskin clothing, and scarcely anyone but a native could have distinguished male from female, except for a band of brass which some of the women wore around their foreheads. Yet the trader was able to greet each of the natives by name without making a mistake, even when two brothers appeared.