CHAPTER XVII.

THE STAFF OF LIFE.

Lifting the blind over the entrance, Ambrose dived inside the teepee, Simon Grampierre at his heels. In the center a small fire burned on the ground, and behind it sat five dark-skinned figures in a semicircle.

Not one of the five faces changed a muscle at their entrance. The princ.i.p.al man with a grave inclination of the head, waved them a blanket which had been placed for them opposite him.

It was like an old-time Indian council, but the picturesqueness was a good deal spoiled by the gingham shirts they wore, and the ill-fitting coats and trousers from the store.

Moreover, the red men's pipes, instead of the graceful calumets were English briars with showy silver bands. The bowl of Watusk's pipe, of which he appeared to be inordinately proud, was roughly carved into the likeness of a death's head.

Watusk was an extraordinary figure. Ambrose was reminded of a quack doctor in poor circ.u.mstances. He was middle-aged and flabby, and had long, straggling gray hair, bound round with a cotton fillet, none too clean.

He wore a frock coat all b.u.t.toned up before, each b.u.t.ton constricting his fat, with a bulge between. His trousers were made from a blanket once white, with a wide black band around the calf of each leg, and he wore fine doeskin moccasins, richly embroidered with silk.

His dirty fingers displayed a quant.i.ty of bra.s.s rings from the store, set with gems of colored gla.s.s. His heavy, loose-featured face was unremarkable, except for the extraordinarily bright, quick, shallow eyes, suggesting at different moments the eyes of a child, an animal, and a madman.

His skin showed a tinge of yellow as distinguished from the pure copper of his companions, and Ambrose was reminded of the black man.

Watusk grandiloquently introduced his four companions. "My councilors," he said: "Toma, minister of state; Lookoovar, minister of war; Mahtsonza, minister of interior; Tatateecha, minister of medicine."

Thus their uncouth names as Ambrose got them. He avoided Simon's eye, and bit his lip to keep from laughing. The four were all small men with the fine characteristic faces of pure bred savages.

They understood not a word of what was said, but preserved an unshakable gravity throughout. Ambrose, as they were named, christened them anew, according to their several characteristics: Coyote, Moose, Bear and Weasel.

The last was a little shriveled creature, hung with charms and amulets in tobacco bags until he looked like a scarecrow. He had an eye even wilder and shiftier than his master's.

"Conjure-man," murmured Simon in Ambrose's ear.

"Let Ambrose Doane speak," said Watusk. He used good English.

Ambrose had adopted from Peter Minot the maxim: "Make the other man speak first, and get a line on him." He bowed politely. "Ambrose Doane will not speak until Watusk has spoken," he said.

Watusk highly gratified, bowed again, and forthwith began. "I am glad to see Ambrose Doane. He is good to my eyes lak the green leaves in spring. He is come to Fort Enterprise and there is no more winter.

"The name of Peter Minot and the name of Ambrose Doane make good words to my ear. They are the friends of the red men. They pay good price for fur. They sell outside goods cheap. I want a box of cigars me, same lak you send Simon Grampierre."

Ambrose recognizing Watusk's type was not put out by the sudden drop from the sublime to the ridiculous. He now had a "line" on his man.

Swallowing his laughter, he answered in a similar strain.

"I am glad to see Watusk. I wish to be his friend. I come from the big lake six days' journey toward the place of the rising sun. So far as that men tell me of the Kakisa nation, and tell of Watusk who rules them.

"Men say the Kakisa men are the best hunters of the north and honest as the sun in summer-time. Men say Watusk is a wise chief and a good friend of the white men. I have plenty cigars in my outfit."

The chief swelled with gratification until his much-tried b.u.t.tons threatened altogether to part company with his coat.

A good deal more of this airy exchange was necessitated before Watusk could be induced to talk business. When he finally condescended to it, the story was as Simon had forecast:

"When Ambrose Doane come here I say to my people: 'Trade with him. He will be your father. He will feed you.' Now when they come for flour Simon Grampierre say you got no flour.

"When I go to John Gaviller for flour, he mock me. He say: 'You take Ambrose Doane for your father. All right. Let him feed you now.' So I am not know what to do. Every day my people more ongry, more mad.

"Pretty soon the young men make trouble. There is no game here. We can't stay here without flour. We can't go back without flour. I am feel moch bad. But Ambrose Doane is come now. It is all right!"

The last of this was delivered with something like a leer, warning Ambrose's subconsciousness that Watusk, notwithstanding the flowery compliments, wished him no good.

"I have plenty of grain," he said warily. "Let each woman grind for her own family."

Watusk shook his head. "Long tam ago we got stone bowls for grind wild rice in," he said. "So many years we buy flour all the bowls is broke and throw away now."

Ambrose could not deny to himself the gravity of the situation. He was reminded afresh that he was dealing with a savage by the subtle, threatening note that presently crept into Watusk's smooth voice.

"John Gaviller say to Gordon Strange for say to me: 'Ambrose Doane got all the grain. Let Ambrose Doane sell his grain to me, and I give you flour.'"

Ambrose, perceiving the drift, swore inwardly.

"Gordon Strange tell that in Kakisa language," Watusk went on slyly; "some hear it and tell the others. All know now. If my people get more hungry what can I do? Maybe my young men steal the grain and take it to Gaviller."

"If they lay hands on my property they'll be shot," said Ambrose, curtly.

Watusk spread out his hands deprecatingly. "Me, I tell them that," he said. "But they are so mad!"

"John Gaviller is trying to use you to work his own ends," said Ambrose.

Watusk shrugged indifferently. This was the real man, Ambrose thought.

"Maybe so. You got trouble with Gaviller. That is not my trouble.

All I want is flour."

"You shall have it!" cried Ambrose boldly. "Enough to-morrow morning to feed every family. Enough in three days to fill your order."

Watusk appeared to be a little taken aback, by the prompt granting of his demand. "Where will you get it?" he asked.

"I will get it," Ambrose said. "That is enough."

When Ambrose and Simon got outside the teepee Simon asked the same question: "Where _will_ you get it?"

"I don't know," said Ambrose. "Give me time. I'll find a way!"

"If Gaviller gets the Kakisa fur you'll make no profit this year,"

suggested Simon.

"I have to consider other things as well as profit," Ambrose said.

"There are more years to come."

Reaching the dugout, Simon asked: "Where now?"