"All right," said Alexander imperturbably. "I go to Moultrie to get goods."
"You, too," said Ambrose. "I can't import you all."
"I got go Moultrie, me," said Alexander. "I got trouble wit' Gaviller.
He starve me and my children. They sick."
"Starve you!"
"Gaviller say give no more debt till I bring him my black fox," Alexander went on apathetically. "Give no flour, no sugar, no meat, no tea. My brot'er feed us some. Gaviller say to him better not. So now we have nothing. We ongry."
This promised difficulties. Ambrose frowned. "Tell me the whole story," he said.
The little man was eying the grub-box wolfishly. Throwing back the cover, Ambrose offered him a cold bannock.
"Here," he said. "Eat and tell me."
Alexander without a word turned and scrambled up the bank and disappeared, clutching the loaf to his breast. The white man shouted after him without effect. He left the precious pelt behind him.
Ambrose shrugged philosophically. "You never can tell."