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Updated: May 9, 2025
Ambrose, indifferent as he was, could not but be struck by the old man's beauty, and his dignity was equal to his good looks. Young Tole's naïve pride in his parent was explained. Ambrose was introduced to a wide interior of a dignified bareness. This was the main room of the house; the kitchen they called it, though the cooking was done outside.
In the bottom of the boat, at his feet, lay the wizened Indian in his rags, and the straight, slim body of Tole side by side like brothers in a bed. Tole's face was not disfigured; serene, boyish, and comely, it gave Ambrose's heart-strings a fresh wrench. He covered them both with a piece of sail-cloth.
"On the contrary, if we're murdered it will be because they found whiskey in your store," retorted Ambrose. "Impossible!" cried Gaviller and Strange together. Ambrose laid a hand on Tole's shoulder. "This man saw it on the counter," he said. "I sent him to the store to get guns for us both. It had no business to be there, as you all know." "They must have brought it with them," said Strange.
"I go with you," Tole whispered back. "I your friend." Ambrose's anxious heart was warmed. He needed a friend. He gripped Tole's shoulder. "Have you a gun?" he asked. The breed shook his head. "Get guns for us both if you can," said Ambrose. On the other side, the instant the york boat touched the shingle, the Indians set up a chorus of yelling frightful to hear, and scrambled ashore.
Tole's budget of news from down the river contained nothing startling. John Gaviller had been very sick all summer with pneumonia as a result of his wound. He was getting better: "pale and skinny as an old rabbit in the snow," in Tole's words. Gaviller had sent up the launch to get what grain had been grown at the crossing; but it was not enough to fill his contracts for flour up north.
Tole was not bringing his pursuers back to the big house, but led the way off to one side by the quarters. Only a few yards separated him from the all-concealing darkness. "He's safe!" murmured Ambrose. At the same moment half of Tole's pursuers stopped dead, and their rifles barked. The flying figure spun around with uptossed arms, and plunged to the ground.
Ambrose demanded four men of him to carry Tole's body to his father's house. Watusk kept him waiting while he listened to a communication from Myengeen. Ambrose guessed that it had to do with himself, for both men glanced furtively at him. Watusk finally turned away without having answered the white man. Ambrose, growing red, imperiously repeated his demand.
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