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Updated: May 19, 2025
The next year, when the railroad came to Brandon, and the wheat was drawn in from as far south as Lloyd's Lake, the Black Creek Stopping- House became a far-famed and popular establishment. Across the level plain which lies between the valley of the Souris and the valley of the Assiniboine there ran, at this time, three trails.
The unfortunate nose corroborated his evidence. "Ice was sloppy on the Saskatchewan, and I had to use pack-horses and take the trail. I was trusting to get provisions at Souris. You can imagine, then, how we felt towards the Hudson's Bays when we found they'd plundered our fort. We were without a bite for two days.
Bagosh, I say that time: 'Bargon he have put a belt round the world and buckle it tight to him all right, ver' good. I say to him: 'Bargon, what you do when you get ver' rich out on the Souris River in the prairie west? He laugh and throw up his hands, for he have not many words any kind.
We were taken possession of by the Gros Souris, a Spanish zebec with a long eighteen-pounder and seventy-five men. The other vessels were a three-masted zebec with an English sloop which she had captured and a schooner. Two hours afterwards we were all at anchor in the river, and the next day proceeded to St. Jago, where I had, with the crew, the felicity of being put into the gaol.
"I'd no intention of comin' here," a man from Paisley said. "I was goin' to Souris, until that gent got a holt of me, and I thought if he wuz a sample of the men ye raise here, I'd hike this way." "He's lookin' for a treat," the bartender laughed. "He's sized you up, Tom, as a pretty good fellow." "No, I ain't after no treat," the Paisley man declared. "That's straight, what I told you."
George Shaw decided to do his own cooking, but in three days every dish in the house was dirty; the teapot was full of leaves, the stove full of ashes, and the floor was slippery. George Shaw's farm lay parallel with the Souris River in that fertile region which lies between the Brandon and the Tiger Hills. His fields ran an unbroken mile, facing the Tiger Hills, blue with mist.
Then he really began to admire her with an admiration that his friendship for the husband obliged him to keep within the bounds of discretion, making him timid and embarrassed. Madame Souris believing that his presumptions had received a wholesome check now treated him as a good friend. This went on for nine years. One morning a messenger brought Leuillet a distracted note from the poor woman.
Norinne and Bargon they go out to the Souris, and Bargon have a hunder' acre, and he put up a house and a shed not ver' big, and he carry his head high and his shoulders like a wall; yes, yes. First year it is pretty good time, and Norinne's cheeks ah, like an apple they. Bimeby a baby laugh up at Bargon from Norinne's lap.
On other days we had sauntered, allowing the animals to snatch delicious hors d'oeuvres from the bushes as they passed, but to-day Finois was in the depths of gloom. There was no grey Souris, no spectacled Fanny-anny to cheer him on the way, and if he reached out a wistful mouth towards a branch, he was hurried past it.
Turning toward her, he approached, ashamed of having struck her, but feeling in the bottom of his heart as a husband, a relentless hatred toward this woman who had deceived the former husband, Souris. A white-haired old man begged us for alms. My companion, Joseph Davranche, gave him five francs.
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