Part 36 (1/2)

”No; but it would be wise to get your boxes as far up the country as you can, and that can only be by means of the Indians and one of their canoes.”

”But you would have to pay them.”

”Of course.”

”And would it be safe to trust them?”

”We shall see, my lad. But patience. They ought to have called this place New England. What a country and a climate for a man who could be content to settle down to a ranch and farm. There,” he continued, ”I dare say you two want to have a chat. I shall be aft there if you wish to say anything to me.”

He was quite right. Esau was waiting to come up and talk, pointing out distant mountains, the islands we were pa.s.sing, and the appearance of the land we were approaching, a place all mystery and interest to us now.

”I say,” he cried, ”I've been talking to one of the men aboard here, and he says it will be easy enough to find Fort Elk; that we've only got to keep to the side of the river, and we shall be sure to get there some time.”

”Some time?” I said rather dismally. ”When is that?”

”Oh, there's no hurry,” cried Esau, enthusiastically. ”It will be rare good fun going along by the river, and through the woods, with no one to interfere with you, and order you to copy this or write out that. But let's get away from old Gunson as soon as we can.”

”You want boy?” said a mild, insinuating voice, and the little fellow in blue stood by us with his head on one side, and his black, currant-like eyes twinkling in his yellow face. The black close cap which he had seemed to wear had disappeared, for it had only been his curled-up pigtail, which now hung down his back nearly to his heels. ”You want boy?” he said again.

He was so close to us now that I could see, in spite of his being only about the stature of a lad of thirteen, that he must be a man of thirty at least, and in spite of his quaint aspect, there was something pleasant and good-humoured about his countenance that was attractive.

”Want a boy?” said Esau, rather roughly. ”He's got one. Can't you see him? Me!”

The Chinaman nodded and smiled at Esau, as if he admired his fresh-coloured smooth face and curly fair hair. Then showing his teeth a little, he went on--

”Me speak ploper Inglis allee same Melican man. Velly stlong. Washee.

Cally big pack allee over countly. Cookee. Velly good cookee. Make nicee blead. Hot fire, plenty tea.”

”No,” I said, smiling at his earnestness. ”We don't want a servant.”

”Yes; want boy. Quong. Me Quong, talk ploper Inglis. No talkee pidgin.”

”Get out!” cried Esau. ”Who ever heard of talking pigeon! You mean a parrot.”

”Hey? Pallot. Yes, talkee pallot--pletty polly what o'clock?”

”Yes, that's right!” cried Esau.

”Quong talk ploper Inglis. Allee same Melican man. No talkee pidgin, no talkee pallot. Quong come along cally big pack. Cookee. Washee clean do.”

”But we don't want you,” I said.

”No wantee Quong? Hey?”

”No.”

”Ah.”

He nodded as good-humouredly as if we had engaged him to cook and wash for us, and as we stood there leaning over the side of the puffing little steamer, we saw him go from one to another, and amongst them to Gunson. But he was everywhere received with a shake of the head, and at last, apparently in no wise discouraged, he sat down forward on the deck, took his little bundle on his knees, and curled up his tail again.