“Kai-yai! Little chief come back! Good! good!” With both hands upstretched he reached for the hand extended to him and almost dragged the rider from his horse. Then followed a stream of jubilant Chippewayan which continued unbroken while the horse was being unsaddled, rubbed down and made comfortable for the night.
“You have everything in good order, Tom,” said Paul, returning from a survey of the stables. “But where are the horses and cattle?”
“No more,” said Tom, spreading wide his hands. “Only cochon, heem at house.”
“At the house?”
“Huh! Heem and his small leetle cochons at house. Come! I show heem,” said Tom, leading the way to the woodshed attached to the kitchen, where Paul discovered a sow and some half dozen half grown porkers, happily and conveniently domesticated, the explanation of their proximity to the bungalow being the desire of the Indian to save himself the annoyance of exposure to the inclemency of the weather in their care during the winter months.
“And where are the rest of the stock?” inquired Paul.
“Colonel Pelham, he mak de beeg sale. He’s all gone—all gone!” replied Tom.
“And the money? But you won’t know.”
“No.”
“And the Colonel—where is he?”