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The skins were not those of mere foxes or martens or deer, but of mountain lions and grizzlies. There were besides many soft, tiger-like skins, which Sir Duke did not recognise. He kept looking at them, and at last went over and examined one. "What's this, Monsieur Pourcette?" he said, feeling it as it lay on the top of the pile.
We haven't told you our names. I am Sir Duke Lawless, and this is Shon M'Gann." Pourcette nodded: "I do not know how it come to me, but I was sure from the first you are his friends. He speak often of you and of two others where are they?" Lawless replied, and, at the name of Pretty Pierre, Shon hid his forehead in his hand, in a troubled way.
It was heavy, and he could not travel fast. One morning, Pourcette, who had been off in the hills, came to say that he had sighted a little herd of wapiti. He stayed and dreamed of his good fortune, and of his home. In the late afternoon he lay down in the sun beside the camp-fire and fell asleep from much thinking. Lawless and Pourcette had little success. The herd had gone before they arrived.
"I will take you there," said Pourcette, suddenly rising, and, with shy abrupt motions grasping their hands and immediately letting them go again. "I will take you to-morrow." Then he spread skins upon the floor, put wood upon the fire, and the three were soon asleep.
There was no doubt about it. A beautiful little stream ran through it, and its bed was sprinkled with gold a goodly sight to a poor man like Shon, interesting enough to Lawless. For days, while Lawless and Pourcette hunted, Shon laboured like a galley-slave, making the little specks into piles, and now and again crowning a pile with a nugget.
They dare not fire, for fear of injuring the man, and they could not reach him in time to be of help. There against the weird solitary sky the man and the puma fought. When the animal dropped on him, Pourcette caught it by the throat with both hands, and held back its fangs; but its claws were furrowing the flesh of his breast and legs.
"Faith, Lawless, there's a story worth the hearin', I'm thinkin', to every white man in this country. For the three years I was in the mounted police, I could count a story for all the days o' the calendar and not all o' them would make you happy to hear." Pourcette turned round to them. He seemed to be listening to Shon's words.
There was no doubt about it. A beautiful little stream ran through it, and its bed was sprinkled with gold a goodly sight to a poor man like Shon, interesting enough to Lawless. For days, while Lawless and Pourcette hunted, Shon laboured like a galley-slave, making the little specks into piles, and now and again crowning a pile with a nugget.
Pourcette fondled the gun, then rose and hung it up again before he replied. "Then I will go to Fort St. John, to the girl she is there with her father and sell all the skins to the factor, and give her the money." He waved his hand round the room. "There are many skins here, but I have more cached not far away. Once a year I go to the Fort for flour and bullets.
It was heavy, and he could not travel fast. One morning, Pourcette, who had been off in the hills, came to say that he had sighted a little herd of wapiti. He stayed and dreamed of his good fortune, and of his home. In the late afternoon he lay down in the sun beside the camp-fire and fell asleep from much thinking. Lawless and Pourcette had little success. The herd had gone before they arrived.
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