Part 82 (1/2)

In the biggest of the huts, nearly full of men, women, and children, coughing, sickly-looking, dejected, the natives made room for the strangers. When the white men had supped they handed over the remains of their meal (as is expected) to the head of the house. This and a few matches or a little tobacco on parting, is all he looks for in return for shelter, room for beds on the floor, snow-water laboriously melted, use of the fire, and as much wood as they like to burn, even if it is a barren place, and fuel is the precious far-travelled ”drift.”

It is curious to see how soon travellers get past that first cheeckalko feeling that it is a little ”nervy,” as the Boy had said, to walk into another man's house uninvited, an absolute stranger, and take possession of everything you want without so much as ”by your leave.”

You soon learn it is the Siwash[*] custom.

[Footnote: Siwash, corruption of French-Canadian _sauvage_, applied all over the North to the natives, their possessions and their customs.]

Nothing would have seemed stranger now, or more inhuman, than the civilized point of view.

The Indians trailed out one by one, all except the old buck to whom the hut belonged. He hung about for a bit till he was satisfied the travellers had no hootch, not even a little for the head of the house, and yet they seemed to be fairly decent fellows. Then he rolls up his blankets, for there is a premium on sleeping-s.p.a.ce, and goes out, with never a notion that he is doing more than any man would, anywhere in the world, to find a place in some neighbour's hut to pa.s.s the night.

He leaves the two strangers, as Indian hospitality ordains, to the warmest places in the best hut, with two young squaws, one old one, and five children, all sleeping together on the floor, as a matter of course.

The Colonel and the Boy had flung themselves down on top of their sleeping-bag, fed and warmed and comforted. Only the old squaw was still up. She had been looking over the travellers' boots and ”mitts,”

and now, without a word or even a look being exchanged upon the subject, she sat there in the corner, by the dim, seal-oil light, sewing on new thongs, patching up holes, and making the strange men tidy--men she had never seen before and would never see again. And this, no tribute to the Colonel's generosity or the youth and friendly manners of the Boy. They knew the old squaw would have done just the same had the mucklucks and the mitts belonged to ”the tramp of the Yukon,” with nothing to barter and not a cent in his pocket. This, again, is a Siwash custom.

The old squaw coughed and wiped her eyes. The children coughed in their sleep.

The dogs outside were howling like human beings put to torture. But the sound no longer had power to freeze the blood of the trail-men.

The Colonel merely d.a.m.ned them. The Boy lifted his head, and listened for Nig's note. The battle raged nearer; a great scampering went by the tent.

”Nig!”

A scuffling and snuffing round the bottom of the tent. The Boy, on a sudden impulse, reached out and lifted the flap.

”Got your bandage on? Come here.”

Nig brisked in with the air of one having very little time to waste.

”Lord! I should think you'd be glad to lie down. _I_ am. Let's see your paw. Here, come over to the light.” He stepped very carefully over the feet of the other inhabitants till he reached the old woman's corner.

Nig, following calmly, walked on prostrate bodies till he reached his friend.

”Now, your paw, pardner. F-ith! Bad, ain't it?” he appealed to the toothless squaw. Her best friend could not have said her wizened regard was exactly sympathetic, but it was attentive. She seemed intelligent as well as kind.

”Look here,” whispered the Boy, ”let that muckluck string o' mine alone.” He drew it away, and dropped it between his knees. ”Haven't you got something or other to make some shoes for Nig? Hein?” He pantomimed, but she only stared. ”Like this.” He pulled out his knife, and cut off the end of one leg of his ”shaps,” and gathered it gently round Nig's nearest foot. ”Little dog-boots. See? Give you some bully tabak if you'll do that for Nig. Hein?”

She nodded at last, and made a queer wheezy sound, whether friendly laughing or pure scorn, the Boy wasn't sure. But she set about the task.

”Come 'long, Nig,” he whispered. ”You just see if I don't shoe my little horse.” And he sneaked back to bed, comfortable in the a.s.surance that the Colonel was asleep. Nig came walking after his friend straight over people's heads.

One of the children sat up and whimpered. The Colonel growled sleepily.

”You black devil!” admonished the Boy under his breath. ”Look what you're about. Come here, sir.” He pushed the devil down between the sleeping-bag and the nearest baby.

The Colonel gave a distinct grunt of disapproval, and then, ”Keepin'

that brute in here?”