“Where’s La Biche, and what rivermen?”
“Oh, you know, Lac la Biche, way up country, where the rivermen come from.”
“I don’t know anything about ’em—you mean ‘scow men’?”
“Of course,” answered Roy, taking off his coat. “I wanted to see ’em and I knew they got in last night. I’ve met all kind of Indians, but these old boatmen don’t get down this way very often.”
“Why’d you think I didn’t care?” asked the other boy. “If you mean a real old batteau steersman, I never saw one either. I reckon I’d have gone a few hundred yards to see one of ’em if he’s the real goods. Since the steamboats came in, I thought they’d all played out. Are these fellows half-breeds or full-bloods?”
“Don’t make any mistake about ’em!” responded Roy eagerly. “I’ve seen all kinds of Indians but these are some I never did see. They’re all right, too. If there’s anything about a canoe or a flatboat that they don’t know, I guess nobody can tell it to ’em.”
“They’ll have a fine time doing any paddling or steering around here in this race track,” suggested Norman gruffly. “How are they goin’ to show ’em off? But what do they look like?”
“They’re not wearing Indian togs much,” explained Roy, taking a seat by his friend, “and I’ve never seen real old full-blood Indian rivermen, but I know these fellows look like ’em. But I’d change their names if I was going to put ’em on the program.”
“Don’t sound Indian enough?” suggested Norman. “Full-bloods never do seem to have real Indian names. Seems like all the loafin’ half-breeds take the best names.”
“Anyway,” went on Roy, “these men are John Martin, or old ‘Moosetooth,’ and William La Biche.”