"No, no," said Mr. Devering, "it's only Bolshy getting his bath."
White and ashamed, young Dallas had sunk back on the settle, and Mr. Devering turned to his son.
"Tecumseh, my boy," he said good-naturedly, "it seems to me you were laying rather violent hands on our guest."
His tone was not stern. I saw he was not a person to aggravate a boy into revolt; however when Big Chief scowled and came to stare out in my direction, both hands rammed sulkily into his pockets, his father stepped after him.
"Your ugly humors are riding you to a fall," he said quietly. "Go apologise to your cousin."
Big Chief gave him a quick look, then he went to Dallas and said gruffly, "I hope I didn't hurt you, when I grabbed your shoulders."
"Not a bit," said Dallas; "but do tell me what that noise was."
I saw Big Chief's lips just forming a W that meant he was going to say "Wolf." Then he changed his mind, for his father stood near him.
"It's a Russian," he said. "He fought in France, was wounded, came to Canada as a stoker on a steamer, was arrested and put in a camp near here. The war over, he was released. He didn't want to go to Russia. He got lost in the woods. The game warden found him, and washes him and the Russian yells."
"The warden is trying to make a good Canadian citizen out of him," said Mr. Devering quietly.