“Then you do not believe the Bible, which says distinctly that this ‘gospel is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.’”
“Ay, but these wretched Indians won’t believe,” objected the trader.
“True,” answered Bertram; “they have not faith by nature, and they won’t because they can’t believe; but faith is the gift of God, and it is to be had for the asking.”
“To that I answer that they’ll never ask.”
“How do you know? Did you ever give them a trial? Did you ever preach the gospel to them?”
“No, I never did that.”
“Then you cannot tell how they would treat it. Your remarks are mere assertions of opinion—not arguments. You know the wickedness of the Indians, and can therefore speak authoritatively on that point; but you know not (according to your own admission) the power of the gospel: therefore you are not in a position to speak on that point.”
McLeod was about to reply when he was interrupted by the approach of Mr Macgregor, who had now recovered somewhat from the effects of his violent fit of passion. Having observed during the mêlée that strangers had arrived at his fort, he had washed and converted himself into a more presentable personage, and now came forward to the group of trappers, all of whom had assembled at the gate. Addressing them in a tone of affable hospitality he said—
“Good-day, friends; I’m glad to see you at the Mountain Fort. That blackguard Larocque somewhat ruffled my temper. He’s been the cause of much mischief here, I assure you. Do you intend to trap in these parts?”
The latter part of this speech was addressed to Redhand, who replied—