"They call me Storm, now. The Kutenais call me Storms-all-of-a-sudden."
"H'm. As Justice of the Peace, I'm supposed to want young Fright for parricide."
White teeth flashed as the man laughed. "And you might get me," he answered, "with, say, five hundred men—or even hold me, until my Kutenais had time to raise the tribes."
Then as the shadow of a passing cloud will soften the hard brightness of the snows, the youngster's laughing, triumphant manhood became all tenderness. "You said as you'd make a man of me," he added under his breath and very humbly. "I owe all this to you. I'm not running away or asking for a fight, Mr. Douglas, or even bragging; but if you should ever 'appen to want a friend—my heart is good towards you."
"Thank you, thank you. I might be glad of that. One never knows. Will you shake hands, Mr. Storm?"
"Rather!"
Storm felt without resentment that the great man condescended, as to a servant, yet tried to put an inferior at ease. Accepting that as natural, he wiped his paw on his deerskin leggings before he would venture to shake hands.
"I never thought to meet you, sir, upcountry, but I wants 'elp for my tribe, and your trader here at Colville is—well—cultus!" He snarled the word, for which the factor snubbed him.
They turned along the pathway by the river, and for the next few minutes cut and thrust were sharp as they came to business.
"Well, what can I do for you?" asked Douglas.