“The trader won’t give him but about so much for them, anyway, no matter how many he offers,” he said to Enoch. “You know how it is with them. Injins can’t count and the traders fool ’em and cheat ’em. We’d better take some of his ourselves and so get some good out of them.”
“That isn’t honest, Lot!” cried Enoch, hotly.
“Huh! it’s honest enough. We won’t be cheating the Injin, for they’ll do him no good. And there’s no use in the traders makin’ so much on him.”
“Then we’ll go with him and see that the traders treat him honestly,” declared young Harding.
“Zuckers!” exclaimed the careless Lot. “Catch me putting myself out that way for a redskin.”
“You’re glad enough to use his traps, Lot!” cried Enoch. And the two old friends came very near having a falling out over the matter. Lot simply followed the example of the older settlers whom he knew. It was no particular sin to cheat an Indian. They were too much like children to look out for themselves in a bargain, anyway.
But as week followed week, Crow Wing’s manner toward Enoch Harding showed that he had adopted him, Indian fashion, as “brother.” Not that the red youth displayed any affection; that was beneath a brave. But he appreciated Enoch’s respectful treatment of him. Crow Wing treasured this in his mind and, when the spring came, and they packed their bales of furs by canoe and hand-sled to Bennington, and Enoch took pains to make the traders pay the Indian quite as liberally as they did Lot and himself for his furs, his gratitude blossomed in its fulness.
Lot went home to see his mother; but Enoch took Crow Wing to the Harding house with him and gave him an old canoe in which the red youth could make his way by water and portage to his home on the shores of Lake George. Crow Wing did not go near the house when Enoch met his mother and the younger Hardings after his long absence; but he sat down to dinner with them and if he used his fingers oftener than his hunting knife to prepare his food it was not remarked, for forks were not always used by the settlers themselves at that day. His gravity awed the younger children, while Bryce admired his proportions openly. The Indian youth was certainly a magnificently built fellow.
Before he went away he sat beside the creek and silently smoked a farewell pipe while his white friend waited for his last words. Enoch believed Crow Wing had something to tell him regarding Simon Halpen and that the time for speech had come; but knowing his nature the white youth had not tried to hurry this confidence.
“Hawknose come here once more–what you do?” Crow Wing asked, when the pipe was finished.