“Kid! Ho, Kid! Kid! Kid! Kid!”
The name rang out in a chorus of summons ranging from the rough, breaking voice of Clarence to the almost baby treble of Jane Constance.
The Kid swung about as the youthful avalanche swept down upon her, and, in a moment, she was almost smothered by the struggling children reaching to get hold of some part of her clothing. There could be no mistake. Adoration was shining in every eye as the children reached her. There was laughter and a babel of voices as they took possession of her and started to drag her towards the house where dinner was waiting ready.
Usak looked on without a word. He was more than content. The girl had given him her decision as to the future, and though it clashed with his own ideas it was her decision, and, therefore, would be obeyed. He was as nearly happy as his fierce, passionate temper would permit. These children in their amazing hero worship of their older sister, as they considered her, had his entire approval. They were only little less to him than the Kid. He was Indian and they were white. And the big heart of the man thrilled at the thought that these helpless whites were no less his charge than the grown woman-child of his “good boss.”
They were ranged about the rough table for their midday meal. The step-ladder sequence of their ages and sizes was only broken by the presence of the Kid, who sat at one end of it between Algernon, of the red-head and freckles, and the grey-eyed Percy, who was the born trader of the community. Hester McLeod, grey of hair for all her comparative youth, smiling, small, and workworn sat at the head of the table between the head and tail of her reckless brood. Mary Justicia was at her right, a pretty, black-haired angular girl of nearly fifteen, ready to minister to everyone’s wants, a sort of telephonic communication with the cookstove, and Jane Constance, with her mass of brown curls, and a face more than splashed with the stew she was devouring, on her left.
At the moment they were all hungrily devouring, and silence, only broken by sounds of mastication, prevailed. Each child had a tin platter of venison stew to consume, and a beaker of hot tea was set close to their hands. They fed themselves with spoons as being the most convenient weapons, and attacked the fare, which was more or less their daily menu, with an appetite that was utterly unimpaired through monotony of diet.
The Kid looked up from her food. For a moment her fond eyes dwelt on the unkempt ragamuffins gathered about the table. There was not one of the six that was without individual interest for her. They often plagued her, but right down to the generally incoherent Jane Constance they looked to her in everything, from their games, to the needs of their growing bodies. She loved them all for just what they were, unkempt, often up to their eyes in dirt and mischief. But more than all she loved the patient, mild-eyed woman at the head of the crazy table, whose purpose in life seemed to be the whole and complete sacrifice of self.
Her gaze wandered over the mud-plastered walls of the living room of this Indian-built shanty. Every crack in it, every uneven contour of the green logs of which it was constructed, was known to her by heart. There were no decorations. There were no other furnishings but the table, and the benches on which the children sat for their food and lessons, and a makeshift cupboard in which were stored groceries, and such domestic articles as Hesther had been able to bring with her from the Fort. It was all crude. It was all unlovely, except for the wealth of generous humanity it sheltered. But every roughness it contained was bound up with simple happiness for the girl, and the memory of long years of childish delights.
“We’re going to give it two years’ trial, Mum,” she said, while the children’s voices were held silent. “It’s the best we can do, I guess, now old Ben’s pulled out. You’ll have to make out the best you know while Usak and I beat down the river to Placer once a year. Maybe it won’t be so bad for you now with Clarence and Alg nearly grown men, and Mary fit to run the whole bunch herself. If things don’t get worse, and we make good trade in Placer I guess we’ll scratch along right here till the boys are full grown. Then we’ll see the thing best to be done. If things get worse Usak wants to make McKenzie River. He’s crazy for the McKenzie Valley. With him it’s the thing to fix everything right.”