“Where is Kateegoose?” asked Dechamp at this crisis.
“Stuffin’ ’imself, of course!” said Fred Jenkins, amid a general laugh. “I’ve noticed, since we set sail on this trip, that Kateegoose always turns out at daybreak, lights the galley fire, an’ begins the dooties o’ the day by stuffin’ ’imself.”
“Ay, and I’ve noticed,” observed one of the young hunters, “that it takes a deal o’ stuffin’ to fill him out properly, for he keeps on at it most part o’ the day.”
“Except,” remarked another, “when he stops to smoke what o’ the stuffin’ has been already shoved down.”
“Moreover,” added the seaman, “I’ve noticed that François La Certe always keeps ’im company. He’s a sympathetic sort o’ man is François, fond o’ helpin’ his mates—specially when they’re eatin’ an’ smokin’.”
At this moment Kateegoose, having been called, came forward. He was an ill-favoured savage, with various expressions on his ugly visage which were not so much Nature’s gifts as the result of his own evil passions. Jealousy was one of them, and he had often turned a green eye on Okématan. There were indications about his mouth and fingers, as he came forward, that justified the commentaries on his habits, and betrayed recent acquaintance with fat pork.
“You hear the reports that have just been brought in?” said Dechamp.
“Kateegoose hears,” was the laconic answer.
“Kateegoose is a Cree,” continued Dechamp; “he knows the spirit that dwells in the hearts of his tribe. What does he think?”
“The thoughts of the Indian are many and deep. He has for many moons watched the behaviour of Okématan, and he has long suspected that the heart of the serpent dwells in the breast of that chief. Now he is sure.”