As always before the savage primal love triumphed over the ethics, and with a great weight lifted from her mind, the old squaw sought her blankets.
Heart and soul, during the remaining days of the summer, Snowdrift threw herself into the work of regenerating the little band of Indians. News of the great gold strike on the Yukon had reached the Mackenzie and these rumors the girl used to the utmost in her arguments in favor of a journey into the barrens. At first her efforts met with little encouragement, but her enthusiasm for the venture never lagged and gradually the opposition weakened before the persistence of her onslaughts.
When the brigade passed northward, Henri of the White Water had promised the Indians he would return with hooch, and it was in anticipation of this that the young men of the band were holding back. When, in August, word drifted up the river that a patrol of the mounted from Fort Simpson had come upon a certain cache, and that Henri of the White Water was even then southward bound under escort, the last of the opposition vanished. Without hooch one place was as good as another and if they should find gold—why they could return and buy much hooch, from some other whiskey runner. But, they asked, how about debt? Already they were in debt to the company, and until the debt was paid they could expect nothing, and a long trip into the barrens would call for much in the way of supplies.
McTavish, the bearded trader at Fort Good Hope, listened patiently until the girl finished her recital, and then his thick fingers toyed with the heavy inkstand upon his desk.
"I do' no' what to say, to ye, lass," he began, "The Company holds me to account for the debt I give, an' half the band is already in my debt. Ye're mither, auld Wananebish is gude for all she wants an' so are you, for ye're a gud lass. Some of the others are gud too, but theer be some amongst them that I wad na trust for the worth of a buckshot. They've laid around the river too lang. They're a worthless, hooch-guzzlin' outfit. They're na gude."
"But that's just why I want debt," cried the girl, "To get them away from the river. There's no hooch here now, and they will go. I, myself, will stand responsible for the debt."
The Scotchman regarded the eager face gravely: "Wheer wad ye tak them?" he asked.
"Way to the eastward, beyond Bear Lake, there is a river. The trapping is good there, and there is gold——"
"The Coppermine," interrupted McTavish, "Always theer has been talk of gold on the Coppermine—but na gold has been found theer. However, as ye say, the trappin' should be gude. Yer Injuns be na gude along the river. They're lazy an' no account, an' gettin' worse. Theer's a bare chance ye can save 'em yet if ye can get 'em far into the
barrens. I'm goin' to give ye that chance. If ye'll guarantee the debt, I'll outfit 'em—no finery an' frippery, mind ye—just the necessities for the winter in the bush. Bring 'em along, lass, an' the sooner ye get started the better, for 'tis a lang trail ye've set yerself—an' may gude luck go with ye."