Tatateecha, the head man of all the Slavis came to her stirrup. He was a round little man, distinguished amongst all the tribe by his fleshiness. The responsibilities of headship had given him more steadiness of character too, but not much more. Loseis did not hold him accountable for the excesses at the Post. Tatateecha made a flowery speech of welcome to Loseis; and another to Gault.
“You are wasting your breath,” remarked Loseis. “He does not understand your tongue.”
“Is he the trader now?” asked Tatateecha slyly.
“No!” said Loseis with a flash of her eyes. “He is my guest. . . . Do you wish to trade with him?” she added.
“No! No!” said Tatateecha earnestly. “He has the name of a hard trader. They tell me that the people at Fort Good Hope are always poor.”
“Very well, then,” said Loseis. “Serve me, and I will deal with you justly and fairly as my father did. You never knew want when he was alive.”
Tatateecha’s eyes twinkled. To be talking in this manner under the very nose of the proud Gault appealed to the Slavi sense of humor.
“This man wishes me ill,” Loseis went on. “He would take my post from me. I look to you and your people to be my friends, and help me to keep what is my own.”
Tatateecha in his redskin style swore fealty. Unfortunately he was not to be trusted far.
“I have another thing to say,” Loseis went on. “The man who fetched this man into our country—I do not name him because this man would hear me; you know the man I mean. That false person is this person’s spy, so beware how you open your hearts to him. I have finished.”