On hearing of his intention, Dan Davidson resolved to accompany him. Dan had by that time associated so much with the chief that he had learned to speak his language with facility. Indeed nearly all the settlers who had a turn for languages had by that time acquired a smattering more or less of Indian and French.
“You see,” said Dan to the chief, “there is not much doing on the farm just now, and I want to see a little of the country round about, so, if you don’t object to my company, I’d like to go.”
“The Cree chief will be proud to have the company of the Paleface chief,” replied the Indian, with grave courtesy.
Dan wanted to say “All right,” but was ignorant of the Cree equivalent for that familiar phrase; he therefore substituted the more sober and correct, “It is well.”
“But,” said he, “you must not call me a Paleface chief, for I am only an ordinary man in my own land—what you would call one of the braves.”
“Okématan is thought to have a good judgment among his people,” returned the Indian, “though he has not the snows of many winters on his head, and he thinks that if Dan’el had stayed in the wigwams of his people beyond the Great Salt Lake, he would have been a chief.”
“It may be so, Okématan, though I doubt it,” replied Dan, “but that is a point which cannot now be proved. Meanwhile, my ambition at present is to become a great hunter, and I want you to teach me.”
The chief, who was gratified by the way in which this was put, gladly agreed to the proposal.
“There is another man who would like to go with us,” said Davidson. “My friend, Fergus McKay, is anxious, I know, to see more of the lands of the Indian. You have no objection to his going, I suppose?—in another canoe of course, for three would be too many in your small canoe.”
Okématan had no objection.