That's the trick my grizzled lads

To catch the cash and snare the foe."

"What's your plan?" I asked with a vague feeling the trader had some shady purpose in mind.

"Squeamish? Eh? You'll get over that, boy. I'll trap your trapper and spy your spy, and Nor'-Wester your H. B. C.! You come down to the sand between the forest and the beach in about an hour and I'll have news for you," and he brushed past me with his arms full of something I could not see in the half-light.

Then, as a trader, began my first compromise[Pg 85] with conscience, and the enmity which I thereby aroused afterwards punished me for that night's work. I knew very well my comrade, with the rough-and-ready methods of traders, had gone out to do what was not right; and I hung back in the tent, balancing the end against the means, our deeds against Louis' perfidy, and Nor'-Westers' interests against those of the Hudson's Bay. It is not pleasant to recall what was done between the cedars and the shore. I do not attempt to justify our conduct. Does the physician justify medical experiments on the criminal, or the sacrificial priest the driving of the scape-goat into the wilderness? Suffice it to say, when I went down to the shore, Louis Laplante was sitting in the midst of empty drinking-flasks, and the wily, old Nor'-Wester was tempting the silly boy to take more by drinking his health with fresh bottles. But while Louis Laplante gulped down his rum, becoming drunker and more communicative, the tempter threw glass after glass over his shoulder and remained sober. The Nor'-Wester motioned me to keep behind the Frenchman and I heard his drunken lips mumbling my own name.

[Pg 85]

"Rufush—prig—stuck-up prig—serve him tam right! Hamilton's—sh—sh—prig too—sho's his wife. Serve 'em all tam right!"

"Ask him where she is," I whispered over his head.

"Where's the gal?" demanded the trader, shoving more liquor over to Louis.

"Shioux squaw—Devil's wife—how you say it[Pg 86] in English? Lah Grawnd Deeahble," and he mouthed over our mispronunciation of his own tongue "Joke, isn't it?" he went on. "That wax-face prig—slave to Shioux Squaw. Rufush—a fool. Stuffed him to hish—neck. Made him believe shmall-pox was Hamilton's wife. I mean, Hamilton's wife was shmall-pox. Calf bellowed with fright—ran home—came back—'tamme,' I say, 'there he come again' 'shmall-pox in that grave,' say I. Joke—ain't it?" 

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