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Updated: June 27, 2025
Breakfast over, the three men accompanied by Jeanne set out for the river, leaving to old Wa-ha-ta-na-ta the work of the camp. Sliding a canoe into the water, they took their places, Jacques and Wabishke at the paddles, with Jeanne and Bill seated on the bottom amidships.
"Wabishke and I are old friends. He is the first man I met in the woods." The Indian nodded, grunted, and pointed to his feet which were encased in a very serviceable pair of boots. "Oh, I remember, perfectly," laughed Bill. "Have you still got my matches?" Wabishke grinned. "You keel loup-garou with knife?" he asked, as if seeking corroboration for an unbelievable story.
Wabishke, like most Indians, was a born trader, and he was quick to note the covetous glance that the white chechako cast toward his footgear. "Will you sell those?" asked Bill, pointing toward the moccasins. The Indian regarded them thoughtfully, and again the toes wriggled comfortably beneath the pliable moose-skin covering. Bill tried again.
Close to the opposite bank the canoe was headed down-stream and, under the swift, strong strokes of the paddles, glided noiselessly in the shadows. A few minutes later, at a sign from Jacques who was in the bow, Wabishke, with a deft twist of his paddle, slanted the canoe bankward.
And has not Wabishke told in the woods, to the wonder of all, how you drink no whisky, but pour it upon your feet?" The girl spoke softly and rapidly, her face flushing. "Do I not know all your thoughts?" she continued. "I who have sat at your side through the long days of your sickness and listened to the voice of the fever-spirit?
The other merely shrugged and pointed first at the bandaged feet, and then at the boots. One by one, a can of salmon, a sheath-knife, and a blue flannel shirt were added to the pile, and still Wabishke seemed unsatisfied.
A popular-fiction Indian would have glided stealthily into the shack and, with becoming dignity, have remarked "How." But Wabishke was just a common Indian one of the everyday kind, that may be seen any time hanging about the trading-posts of the North-country unimaginative, undignified dirty. So he knocked loudly upon the door and waited.
"Me drink," the other insisted, and again Bill shook his head. The Indian seemed puzzled. "No like?" he asked. "No like," repeated Bill, and smiled grimly. Wabishke regarded him in wondering silence. In his life he had seen many strange things, but never a thing like this a white man who of his own choice drank spring-water from a fish-can and poured good whisky upon his feet!
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