"I'll search his title first." Scarlett ran down the veranda steps. "Now look out for trouble," he muttered to himself, seeing the stranger pause opposite a cottage in the Indian quarter, and level his camera at the totem-pole in front of it.
A crowd of angry Indians who had been squatting on mats in the sunshine, making moccasins and weaving baskets, instantly rose and swarmed about him, vehemently protesting in Chinook against this insult to their sacred emblems, Chilkat Jo acting as interpreter.
"Shame, shame, cursed shame to photoglaph the Laven and the Flog!" he cried, alluding to the totem's tribal device. "Velly godam Clistian shame!"
"Hold on!" cried Scarlett, impartially, interposing his tall form between the evidently frightened foreigner and the avenging group.
"Mais—ze Klondike barber-pole—I no steal him; je vous jure, gendarme! I make ze photographie!"
"Yes, but unless you pay them for it to show your good will, the Indians think you are marking them for death," the Sergeant instructed him. "All right, honest Injun," he in turn assured the crowd. "Only sun-picture. Big man pay you big money."
"Why," exclaimed Evelyn's astonished voice at Scarlett's elbow, "it is my courier, Alphonse—he has let his beard grow! That is the kodak he stole from me!"
"Sacré papier, ze mademoiselle!" shrieked the man, recognizing her; and off he set as fast as his trembling limbs could carry him, Scarlett, reinforced by the children of the Raven and the Frog, in hot pursuit.
"It's only what you might have expected, miss," remarked Sarah, consolingly, as in mortified silence Evelyn returned to the veranda. "The French is a deceitful nation. They always have to talk in a foreign language so you can't understand 'em."
"It's all right!" Flushed and breathless, Scarlett came up. "He ran plump into Barney's arms. Here's your camera, Miss Durant. Later I'll get you to appear against the Count—just a formality, you know."