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He might have reported that the Indians called McTaggart Napao Wetikoo because he gave them only half price for their furs.
Under his close-cropped beard his reddish face blazed with the fire that was in his blood. It was an unpleasant face like iron, merciless, filled with the look that gave him his name of Napao Wetikoo. His eyes gleamed, and he drew a quick breath as he put out the light. He chuckled again as he made his way through the darkness to the door. Nepeese as good as belonged to him.
To-night I have broken a part of my oath; I am breaking a part of it in telling you what I am about to say. But I am not a coward, unless it is a coward who lives too much in fear of the Great God. What is my soul compared to that in the gentle breast of our Josephine? I would sacrifice it to-night give it to Wetikoo lend it forever to hell if I could undo what has been done.
And this country, as you draw a line from Christie Bay to Old Fort Reliance, is straight between. Mon pere was dying, and my time was short. I decided to venture it cut across that Sulphur Country, and I sought for a man to accompany me. I could find none. To the Indian it was the land of Wetikoo the Devil Country; to the Breeds it was filled with horror.
They called him Napao Wetikoo the man-devil. This was under their breath a name whispered sinisterly in the glow of tepee fires, or spoken softly where not even the winds might carry it to the ears of Bush McTaggart. They feared him; they hated him.
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