“I know him—yes,” he said.
“You’ve never told a thing of this before?”
There was doubt in the missionary’s tone, and in the regard of his brown eyes.
“I know him,” Usak returned shortly. Then, in a moment, he flung out his great hands in a vehement gesture. “I say I know him—an’ we go kill ’em all up.”
All doubt was swept from the missionary’s mind. He understood the passionate savagery underlying the Indian’s veneer of civilization. The man was in desperate earnest.
“No.” Le Gros’ denial came sharply. Then his gaze drifted back to the scene of destruction, and a deep sigh escaped him. “No,” he reiterated simply. “This is not for us. It is for the police. If you know the hiding-place of these—”
“No good, boss. No,” Usak cried, in fierce disappointment. “The p’lice? No. They so far.” He held up one hand with two fingers thrusting upwards. “One—two p’lice by Placer. An’ Placer many days far off. No good.” He shrugged his great shoulders. “Us mans all dead. Yes. Pri-loo all dead. Felice dead, too. All mans dead when p’lice come. I know. You not know. You good man. You not think this thing. Usak bad man Indian. He think this thing all time. Listen. I tell you, boss, my good boss. I say the thing in my mind. The thing I know.”
He broke off and glanced in the direction of the river, and his eyes dwelt on the gently rocking canoe. He turned again, and his thoughtful eyes came once more to the scene of horror that infuriated his savage heart. He was like a man preparing to face something of desperate consequence. Something that might grievously disturb the relations in which he stood to the man to whom he believed himself to owe everything he now treasured in life. At last his hands stirred. They were raised, and moved automatically under emotions which no words of his were adequate to express.
“I big trail man,” he began. “I travel far. I go by the big ice, by the big hills, by the big water. I mak trade with all mans Eskimo. I mak big reindeer trade with him Eskimo, same as you show me, boss. So I go far, far all time. So I know this Euralian better as ’em all. I not say. Oh, no. It not good. Now I say. This mans Euralian look all time for all thing. Furs? Yes. They steal ’em furs, an’ kill ’em up all Eskimo. So Eskimo all big scare. Gold? Yes. They look for him all same, too. Oil? Yes. Coal? Yes. All this thing they look, look for all time. Him mans not Eskimo. They not Indian. They not whiteman. No. They damn foreign devil so as I not know. Him all mans live in whiteman house all time. Big house. I know. I find him house.”
The man’s unease had passed. He was absorbed in the thing he had to tell. Suddenly after a moment’s pause, he raised a hand pointing so that his wondering companion turned again to the spectacle he would gladly have avoided.