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"What's 'chechako' mean?" Kit asked. "You're one; I'm one," was the answer. "Maybe I am, but you've got to search me. What does it mean?" "Tenderfoot." On his way back to the beach, Kit turned the phrase over and over. It rankled to be called tenderfoot by a slender chit of a woman.
I'm on official business. I'm just traipsin' along to take the census of Squaw Creek." To another, who hailed him with: "Where away, little one? Do you really expect to stake a claim?" Shorty answered: "Me? I'm the discoverer of Squaw Creek. I'm just comin' back from recordin' so as to see no blamed chechako jumps my claim."
"You damn chechako," was what he said, but in the saying of it was admiration. "I don't know how you done it, but you did." Outside, the great crowd was noisily massed, while the office was packing and jamming. Smoke and Big Olaf essayed to rise, and each helped the other to his feet. Smoke found his legs weak under him, and staggered drunkenly. Big Olaf tottered toward him.
"Never since that night has the girl been safe, for Moncrossen, with the cunning of the wolf, is waiting his time and some day he will strike! "But I shared not the fear of my mother that harm would come to Jeanne at the hand of the great chechako, for I have looked into his eyes, and I know that his heart is good.
"I expected to see the youngster dog it. Nothin' of the kind. "'That's my bet! he says again, and I noticed something dry in his voice, like the rustle of silk. "Single Out just looks black and snarls at the dealer. "'Turn the cards! "'Oh, very well, says the chechako, talking like a little girl. "Somebody snickered and, thinks I 'there's sprightly doin's hereabouts.
"Wa-ha-ta-na-ta says 'all men die," he replied; "but did not the chechako come into the North in the time of a great snow, and without rackets mush forty miles in two days? Did he not kill with a knife Diablesse, the werwolf, whom all men feared, and with an axe chop in pieces the wolves of her pack? "Did he not strike fear to the heart of the great Moncrossen with a look of his eye?
See! It is not the face of Moncrossen, but of the great chechako of whom Jacques told us. The man who is hated of Moncrossen. Who killed Diablesse, the loup-garou, with a knife.
"A pilgrim, or tenderfoot, or greener or chechako, or counter-jumper, owin' to what part of the country you misfit into. We thought you wouldn't have no guts, an' we'd " "Any what?" The Texan regarded the other hopelessly. "Oh hell!" he muttered disgustedly. "Can't you talk no English? Where was you raised?" The other laughed. "Go on, I will try to follow you."
Without doubt he was, in the old phrasing of the North, a chechako. His clothing, though much soiled and torn, had been good. His voice held the inflections of the cultured world. Gideon Holt's sly brain moved keenly to the possibility that he could put a name to this human derelict they had picked up.
I have many times talked with this man as he worked in the timber. His heart is good and his lips do not lie. I, who have looked into his eyes, have spoken. And, that you shall know my words are true, if harm befall the girl at the hand of the white chechako, with this knife shall you kill me as I sleep." He withdrew a long, keen blade from its sheath and handed it to the squaw, who took it.
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