The Last.

“I will be thinkin’,” said MacSweenie to Mowat, “that it will be safer for our two canoes to go first to the fort an’ leave the Eskimos behind the point till we warn the Indians o’ their arrival; for there iss no knowin’ what these fiery savitches may do if their old enemies come on them all of a sudden. Tell Nazinred that.”

The interpreter obeyed, and as the chief was of the same opinion, a halt was called; Cheenbuk was consulted, and ultimately the Eskimos in their kayaks were left concealed behind the nearest point below the fort, while the two canoes advanced side by side.

“We will take them by surprise, Tonal’. I’m fond o’ givin’ people a surprise,” said MacSweenie in an undertone as they drew near to the little wharf that had been run out from the land in front of the main building. A few Indians were watching the arrival with some curiosity.

But there was one passenger in Nazinred’s canoe who cared little for interfering with human plans—namely, Attim, whose shaggy head rested on the gunwale as he gazed and snuffed anxiously.

The moment the canoes came within a few yards of the shore, the excited dog plunged over the side with a huge bound. He was a magnificent swimmer, and reached the land in a few seconds. Springing up the bank, he shook a shower from his sides and bounded into the bushes, with the certain knowledge, no doubt, that he had reached home at last, and that his faithful nose would not fail to guide him to the tent of Isquay.

“O ye rascal!” growled MacSweenie, “you’ve let the cat out o’ the bag—for I make no doubt that every man an’ wummin o’ the tribe knows you by sight.”

And the Highlander was right, for in a few minutes the whole camp was roused, and the sight of the dog told them that Nazinred had come back. But had he found his daughter? That was a point which every one who could walk, run, or hobble, hurried to the wharf to ascertain.

But the point was cleared up sooner than they expected, for, before they reached the wharf, a graceful figure was seen to be bounding through the bushes, apparently in hot pursuit of the dog.

Immediately after that a treble scream was heard to issue from a coppice behind the fort. It was followed by an equally treble squeal, with a bass accompaniment of barking. No one took the trouble to inquire the cause of this, for they knew, somehow, intuitively.

As we have said more than once, it is unusual for North American Indians to demonstrate, but Isquay and Adolay were, like Nazinred, in advance of their times, and were in the habit of snapping their fingers in the hideous face of the Red Indian Mrs Grundy!

Meanwhile, MacSweenie and his man were informing the Indians at the wharf that a band of their old foes, the eaters-of-raw-flesh, were at that moment lying on the other side of the point in their kayaks.

The news was received with surprise, not unmingled with frowns. Every one looked at Nazinred inquiringly, but that astute Red man was engaged in profound contemplation of the clouds.

“Moreover,” said the trader, “your old prisoner who gave you the slip and ran away with Adolay is among them.”

“Then,” cried Magadar, starting forward, “we will get our guns and go after them. The young men have long wished for a chance of revenge.”

“The young men hev wished for nothing o’ the sort,” cried MacSweenie, with a fierce expression in his blue eyes that was very impressive. “There iss no wan here wants to fecht but yourself, Magadar; but I will not disappoint ye. If you must fecht wi’ some wan, ye shall fecht wi’ me. But it iss jokin’ ye are.—Come now, men; these Eskimos hev come here on a veesit, an’ full well do I know that there’s not an Indian tribe in all the land equal to the Dogribs for hospitality; so you’ll go and get ready a feast for our veesitors, an’ I’ll gie you some goot things out o’ the store to help it.”

Whatever Magadar thought about this address he shrouded his feelings behind an air of impenetrable and stern reserve; for he saw that the young men sympathised with the trader. Nazinred also, in a few words, helped to confirm their sympathy by telling them that the eaters-of-raw-flesh were not a war-party, but had brought some of their women and old people along with them. The end of it was that a shot was fired as a preconcerted signal for the Eskimos to advance. In a few minutes the kayaks and oomiaks came sweeping round the point and made straight for the landing-place.

The reception of the men-of-the-ice by the traders was of course hearty and sincere, but the hereditary ill-will of the Indians was not quite overcome at the first. It was not until there had been several meetings, and a feast in the fort, and Donald Mowat’s violin had exercised its soothing influence on the savage breasts, that harmony was produced in some degree between the two parties.

At length MacSweenie began to see his way to the establishment of a permanent peace, and he made arrangements to have a great palaver, a solemn treaty, and a grand feast in connection with it.

“You must know, Tonal’,” he said one evening when in consultation with his interpreter in the privacy of his own room, “I hev got a plan in my head which iss calcoolated to make things go smooth, if anything will.”

He paused rather a long time, and as Mowat looked at him in expectation of hearing more, it struck him that the deepened bronze on his chief’s face, and the slight motion of his shoulders, indicated suppressed laughter. But the Orkney-man was much too sedate a character to express undue curiosity. He waited patiently.

“Yes, Tonal’,” said the trader, taking a few whiffs of the long clay pipe which was his usual evening comforter, “I hev a plan, and, strange as it may seem to an unsentimental man like you, love is at the bottom of it.”

“Well, you might have a worse foundation,” returned Mowat, with something of good-natured cynicism on his rugged face.

“Yes,” continued MacSweenie, “that iss at the bottom of it—at least weemen are, an’ that’s the same thing.”

Mowat shook his head doubtfully. “I’m not so sure o’ that,” he said; “no doubt women have a good deal to do wi’ love—but they’re hardly the same thing.”

“Weel, Tonal’, we will not fall out on that point to-night, for I hev got no leisure to dispute. Another time we may tackle it, but I hev other fish to fry just now, an’ we must begin this very night wi’ a grand palaver.”

After a few more vigorous whiffs, and a frown indicative of intense thought, the trader continued—

“I hev no doubt, Tonal’, that you hev observed the curious and, if I may say so, extensive variety of love-makin’ that has broken out in the camp since the arrival o’ these Eskimos?”

“I can’t say that I have,” returned Mowat, gravely.

“Wow, man! for a fuddler ye exhibit a most extraordinary want o’ perception in the more delicate affairs o’ human life. Well, well, it is strange. But I hev observed it, an’ I’m goin’ to turn it to account, if I can.

“You must know that I hev been troubled in my thoughts about that warlike fellow Magadar, for, as you know, he was sweet upon the girl Adolay before she was carried off by the Eskimo; an’ Cheenbuk is such a strong and bold lad that I felt sure there would be mischief between the two about her; but to my surprise an’ satisfaction Magadar hes gone over head an’ ears wi’ that little Eskimo girl Cowlik, who must, I think, hev been born in an easy-going frame of mind, which seems to hev stuck to her ever since, and to hev gone on increasing with her years. Then, as we all know, our Indian Alizay has for long been efter the girl Idazoo. There’s no accountin’ for taste, Tonal’. I would sooner be married to a ship’s figure-head myself, but that’s his look-out, whatever. I hev also observed—’deed it would be difficult not to observe—that the man Oolalik iss castin’ sheep’s-eyes at that girl Nootka. All this hes impressed me so much that I hev set myself to observe more closely than I’m used to do in such matters, and I hev discovered two more cases—namely, that poor young Eskimo that was wounded in the last fecht, but seems to be slowly recovering. They call him Ondikik, and he would hev kicked altogether if it had not been for the nursin’—so they say—o’ that nice little craitur they call Rinka, or something like that. The other case is that lively stripling Anteek. He’s scarcely more than a boy yet, but young Uleeta, as they call the girl, seems to think that no great objection.

“Now, Tonal’, my plan iss to marry them all off-hand on the same day! You know that by virtue of my poseetion in the Service I am empowered to perform the marriage ceremony. Of course, as a Christian man, I would not fail to impress them with the fact that no real marriage can take place without the blessin’ o’ their Manitou, but I think that the readin’ o’ the marriage service over them may impress them favourably, an’ help in the caause of peace and goot-will. It shall be tried, whatever, so you had better go an’ get your fuddle in order, an’ send the cook to me.”

That night MacSweenie had the central hall of his fort lighted up, and called together a united council of the Indians and Eskimos.

“My friends,” he said, after passing the pipe of peace round among the former, and offering it to the latter, who each took a whiff out of courtesy, “this is a great night, for we hev met to join ourselves together in a bond of friendship which I trust will not soon be broken.—Tell them that, Tonal’.”