That night in the camp at the river bend the Indians feasted ravenously, and Reivers, sitting in Tillie’s place as new-made chief, looked on without smiling.
“Oh, Snow-Burner!” said the oldest man at last. “What is it you want with us? Our furs? Speak. We obey your will.”
“Furs are good,” replied Reivers, “when a man has nothing else, but gold is better, and the gold that another man has is best of all.”
The old man cackled respectfully.
“Oh, Snow-Burner! Do you come to us for gold? Do you think we would sit here without meat if we had gold? No, Snow-Burner. What we have you can have. Your will with the tribe from the oldest to the youngest is our law. We owe you our lives. The strength of our young men is yours; the wisdom of our old heads is yours. But gold we have not. Do not turn your frown upon us, Snow-Burner; you must know it is the truth.”
“Since when,” said Reivers sternly, “has my friend, old Little Bear, dared say that the Snow-Burner has the foolishness of a woman in his head? Do you think I come seeking gold from you? No. It is the strength of your young men and the wisdom of your old heads that I want. I seek gold. You shall help me find it.”
Little Bear raised his arms and let them fall in the eloquent Indian gesture of helplessness.
“White men have been here often to seek for gold. The great Snow-Burner once was one of them. They have digged holes in the ground. They have taken the sand from creek bottoms. Did the Snow-Burner, who finds caribou where there are none, find any gold here? No. It is an old story. There is no gold here.”
Reivers leaned forward and spoke harshly.
“Listen, Little Bear; listen all you people. There is gold within three days’ march from here. Much gold. Another man digs it. You will find it for me. I have spoken.”