"What?" Dunvegan cried in great surprise. "She is in Running Wolf's camp? What foolery is that? Is Black Ferguson with her there?"
"Non, she be alone," the courier declared. "W'at she doin' I don' know. W'en I try learn dat, she lak wan speetfire, yes! She have de mission education an' talk lak diable. She goin' have de Crees t'row me out de camp. I kip quiet den! You goin' see her?"
"At once!" exclaimed the chief trader, who, seemingly impelled by a sudden feverish unrest, gave swift, tart orders to his men to take up their burdens. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"Dat for tell de Factor," Basil chided. "I no spik de idl' word lak wan old femme. How I know you be huntin' de girl?"
"That's true," admitted Dunvegan. "You couldn't know our errand. I am somewhat over-anxious, Basil, being in a hurry to finish this hunt and return to Oxford House."
"I believe dat," confided Dreaulond, with meaning in his smile. "Mais, who dis new clerk?"
The chief trader turned to his voyageurs, now shouldering their loads and passing off in single file.
"Glyndon," he called, "come over. This is Basil Dreaulond, the Company's finest courier. You may have heard of him at Norway."
"Indeed, yes," Glyndon confirmed, losing his slight, well-formed hand in Basil's huge paw. "I heard him named with honor and with admiration."
"Ha! dat easy t'ing to say!" exclaimed Dreaulond. "You be Engleesh? You not for ver' long out?"