Part 14 (2/2)
”We-all can make it! Don't yo' worry none. I be'n in tight fixes befo'.
Jest yo' listen to me, an' stall the ol' boy off fo' a day oah two.
That'll give us a chanst to make medicine.” O'Brien turned to the old walrus-faced shaman and there followed a half-hour of lively conversation, at the end of which the man reported to Waseche:
”They're gr-reat hands f'r to hav' dances, ut's par-rt av their haythen religion--that is, they call um dances, an' ut shtar-rts in that way--but ut woinds up loike a Donnybrook fair. 'Tis gr-rand fun--wid har-rpoon shafts cr-rackin' down on heads loike quarther-staves; f'r barrin' pick handles, wan av thim har-rpoons is th' besht club, nixt to a black thor-rn shelala, f'r a foight amongst frinds, an-ny day in th'
wake.
”Oi towld um th' dogs wuz skin-poor fr-rom th' long thrail, an' not fit f'r to ate, but a couple av days wid plinty av fish in their bellies, would fat um up loike a young seal.
”'We'll have a big _potlatch_,' says he. 'We've more fish thin we nayde.
Feed up th' dogs,' says he, 'an' in two shlapes, we'll hav' th' biggest _potlatch_ in th' histhry av th' thribe. We'll dance all night, f'r Oi'm gittin' owld,' says he, 'an' ut may be me lasht.' Oi hope so, thinks Oi, but Oi don't say so. An-nyhow, we kin resht airy f'r a couple av days an' th' dogs'll be safe an' well fed. 'Twud be all a man's loife wuz wor-rth to har-rm wan till th' owld man gives th' wor-rd. Ye said ut wuz raylly hot in Flor-ridy, b'y? Hot enough, d'ye think, that a felly c'd set ar-round in his s.h.i.+r'rt shlaves, an' shmoke a bit av an avenin'?”
O'Brien offered to share his _igloo_ with Connie and Waseche Bill, but they declined with thanks after one look into the smoky interior that fairly reeked with the stench of rancid blubber and raw skin bedding.
Hardly had the dogs been unharnessed before four Indians appeared with huge armfuls of frozen fish, and while the gaunt _malamutes_ gnawed ravenously at the food, the whole village looked on, men and women licking their chops in antic.i.p.ation of the coming _potlatch_, pointing out the choicest of the dogs, and gesticulating and jabbering over the division of the spoils.
The light shelter tent, robes, and sleeping bags were removed from the sleds, and O'Brien offered to help.
”Set ut up clost ag'in' th' _igloo_,” he said, ”an' Oi'll tunnel a hole t'rough th' soide, an' tonight we kin lay an' plot loike Fenians, an'
th' ar-risthocracy here'll think we're sound ashlape dhreamin' av _malamute_ mulligan, an' dog's liver fried in ile.”
The tent was quickly set up and Connie was about to loosen the las.h.i.+ngs of the grub pack.
”How much grub hav' ye got?” asked the Irishman.
”We got a right smaht of grub, except fo' th' dawgs,” answered Waseche.
”Don't uncover ut, thin,” warned O'Brien. ”Jist tilt yer tarp a bit an'
pull out enough f'r th' suppher. They won't bother-r th' outfit none--th' owld man towld um to lave hands off an' they'd divide the whole shebang afther th' dance.”
”Yo' don't say,” drawled Waseche. ”Grandpa's a generous heahted ol'
pahty, ain't he! D'yo' reckon we-all w'd be in on th' divvy, oah do we jest furnish the outfit?”
O'Brien grinned:
”Ye'd fare same as th' rist,” he said. ”Sharre an' shar-re aloike is th'
rule here. Sur-re, they're socialists--ondly they don't know ut.”
”Yo' say they won't let yo' get away from heah? What do they want of yo'--an' what do they want of us? Afteh they've et the dawgs an' divided the outfit, looks like they'd be glad to get rid of us.”
O'Brien filled his pipe and noisily blew great clouds of smoke into the air:
”'Tis a thing Oi've niver found out. Six years Oi've bin hilt pr-risoner. They've thrayted me same as theirsilves. Oi do no mor-re wor-rk thin an-ny man av thim, an' av they're glutted wid grub so'm Oi, an' av they're hungr-ry, Oi'm hungr-ry, too. Near-r as Oi kin make out Oi'm jist a kapesake--loike ye're grandfayther's swor-rd, or a canary.”
”How did Carlson an' Pete Mateese get away?”
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