The principal chief opened his pack slowly and spread its contents on the counter with care. He did not hurry himself, being a very dignified man. There were beavers, martens, otters, silver-foxes, and many other valuable furs, for which large sums are given in the European markets. To obtain these, however, the Company of Traders had to expend very large sums in transporting goods into those northern wilds, and still larger sums would have to be paid to voyageurs, clerks, and employés generally, as well as risks run and time spent before these furs could be conveyed to market and turned into gold—hence our red chief had to content himself with moderate prices. These prices, moreover, he did not himself put on his furs. Lumley did that for him, according to the tariff used by the fur-traders all over the country, every article being rated at a standard unit of value, styled a “made-beaver” in some parts of the country—a “castore” in other parts. On the counter was marked, with a piece of chalk, the value of each fur—a beaver was valued at so many castores, according to its quality, a fox at so many—and when the sum was added up, the total was made known by a number of goose-quills being presented to the chief, each quill representing a castore. The Indians, being acquainted with this process, did not require to have it explained.
Profoundly did that chief gaze at his bundle of quills on receiving them from Lumley after Salamander had swept his furs into a corner. He was studying, as it were, the credit balance of his bank-account before investing.
“Now then, chief,” asked Lumley, with an urbane expression of countenance, “what shall I give you?”
The chief gazed solemnly round the store with his piercing black eyes, while all the other piercing black eyes around gazed at him expectantly! At last his gaze became riveted on a particular spot. The surrounding black eyes turned to that spot intently, and the chief said:
“Baskisigan.”
“Ah, I thought so—a gun?” said Lumley; “hand one over, Salamander.”
The interpreter went to a box which contained half a dozen of the common cheap articles which were supplied for the trade. Long, single-barrelled affairs they were, the barrels of blue metal, stocks extending to the muzzles and stained red, brass mountings of toy-like flimsiness, and flint-locks; the entire gun being worth something less than a pound sterling. These weapons were capable, nevertheless, of shooting pretty straight, though uncomfortably apt to burst.
One having been handed to the chief he received it with a grasp of almost reverential affection, while Lumley extracted from his funds the requisite number of quills in payment.
“What next?” asked Salamander, and again the solemn gaze went slowly round the store, on the shelves of which our goods were displayed most temptingly. Black eyes riveted once more! What is it?
“A green blanket.”