Norman greeted each man and welcomed them to the camp. The Indians were beyond middle age and the dark face of each was seamed with wrinkles. Nothing in Moosetooth’s yellow regular teeth warranted his name, however. This might better have been applied to La Biche, whose several missing teeth emphasized his few remaining ones.
The two men and others were squatted near the fire, each smoking a short black pipe. Some spoke English but there was little conversation. The boys turned to examine a couple of rare birch-bark canoes and the camp itself, but almost at once they were distracted by the appearance of a new spectator in the group already surrounding the camp.
This was a young man, not much beyond the two boys in age but older in expression. He had a foreign look, and wore a small moustache. Norman instantly noted that his face showed mild traces of dissipation. The stranger was tall and although slight in build seemed full of energy and somewhat sinewy in body. His clothes were distinctive and of a foreign cut. He wore smart riding gloves, a carelessly arranged but expensive necktie in which was stuck a diamond studded horseshoe. He was smoking a cigarette.
“Hello,” he said to Norman. “Pretty classy boats these, eh?”
“Yes,” responded the boy, “and pretty rare too. You don’t see many of these around any more.”
“I thought all the Indians used birch-bark boats in the North,” commented the young man.
“No more!” explained Roy. “They ship cedar boats up to Herschel Island now. I haven’t seen one of these bark boats for years. But these are the real stuff!”
“Do you live here?” asked the young man, drawing on his cigarette.
“Both of us have lived here all our lives,” answered Roy, looking the unusual young man over carefully.
“Well, I’m a stranger,” resumed the young man, proffering his cigarette case, which appeared to be of gold and bore a crest on it. When the boys declined he went on: “I’m going to live here now, however. I’ve just come from Paris. I’m Mr. Zept’s son. You know him?”