“All right,” he exclaimed, “they’ll work the better for it. Feed ’em. Four meals a day—that’s the least that any half-breed demands.”
While Colonel Howell and the crew began getting the two scows broadside along the bank, the Cree cooks unloaded the two cook outfits and the grub boxes. The laborious task of hoisting the crates and boxes of the rest of the cargo up the treacherous bank had hardly begun when the cooks, disdaining the fireplace within the cabin, had their fires going in the open clearing.
Within an hour the Indians were devoting themselves to a filling supper and a little later Colonel Howell and his assistants made a hasty meal of tinned roast mutton, pickles, Indian bannock, and tea. All about was confusion. The personal baggage of the newly arrived had been assembled just without the cabin door and Miller and a couple of the crew were beginning to carry in balsam boughs, on which, in their blankets, the colonel and his friends were to pass the night.
No attempt was made, further than Miller’s crude efforts, to make the inside of the cabin more inviting. A big fire of rotten wood had been started near by, as a mosquito smudge, but all were too busy to give these pests much attention.
While the Indians were at supper, Ewen returned with Chandler.
The latter arrived with much effusiveness, but his greeting by Colonel Howell was rather curt.
“Of course you’ll remember this,” the colonel remarked, “when it comes to settling.”
Chandler changed his attitude instantly. His expression and speech showed that he was not sober.
“I’m ready to settle now,” he retorted, as his eyes swept over the growing heaps of the many boxes, barrels, bags and crates that littered the shore.
“I think I am too,” remarked Colonel Howell, “when it suits me. Meanwhile, you’re off the chuck roll. Get out of camp and when you’re in a proper condition and can show me what you’ve earned, come back!”