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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Le Borgne is the great white chief's friend," I say; "and the white-man is the great white chief's friend. Where are we, Le Borgne?" Le Borgne grunts out a low huff-huff of a laugh. "Here; white-man is here," says Le Borgne; and he shuffles away to the bearskin partition hiding another apartment. Ah well as I said, one might do worse than dream of Hortense.
The soldiers yelled and yelled, practising every variation ingenuity could invent in the vain attempt to make their tame white-man utterances resemble the blood-curdling, hair-raising, heart-jumping shrieks of their Indian foes, now so strangely silent. Not a savage responded vocally or otherwise.
"Of course he's a captive," screamed the trader, "then take him and torture him and let us go! 'Twas him stopped the Indian getting the girl!" "Le Borgne," I cut in sharply, "Le Borgne, it was I who stopped the Indian killing the girl! You need not torture the little white-man. He is a good man. He is the friend of the great white chief." But Le Borgne showed no interest.
Look here, neche, you just get right on and don't let me have any more nonsense about the trail." The Indian shook his head. "Ow," he grunted. "This little just little." Then he pointed ahead. "Big, white all white. No, no; white-man no come dis way. Bimeby neche so," and Rainy-Moon made a motion of lying down and sleeping. He meant that they would get lost and die in the snow. Grey became angry.
Kickapoo, Pottawatomie, and Kaskaskia Indians were there to see the white-man council, scattered immovably along the streets, their copper faces glistening in the sun, the buckskin fringes on their leggins scarcely stirring as the hours crept by. Squaws stood in the full heat, erect and silent, in yellow or dark red garments woven of silky buffalo wool, and seamed with roebuck sinews.
"He's white-man selected, white-man bred and born. He has a history. He knows adventure from the ground- roots up. If he could tell his story, we'd sit listening entranced for days. Depend on it, he's not known blacks all his life. Let's try him on Johnny."
The whistler, reindeer, mountain sheep and goat, ermine, musk-rat, marmet, wolf and bear, are tracked and trapped by the red-man; but I doubt if the foot of the white-man is likely to venture far into the almost impenetrable confusion of logs and brush that is the distinguishing feature of the Alaskan wilderness.
One old woman said a Coyote told her, an' maybe that's true, for they do change their song for trouble ahead; another said it was the flowers lookin' queer at sundown, an' another had a bad dream. Maybe they're all true; it comes o' watchin' little things." "Do they never get fooled?" asked Little Beaver 'Oncet in awhile, but not near as often as a White-man would.
"What medicines have you, White-man?" asked Menzi. "None, at least not here. Faith is my medicine." Dorcas looked at Tabitha. She was turning blue and her teeth were chattering. "Let the man do his best," she said to Thomas. "There is no other hope." "He shan't touch her," replied her husband obstinately.
But Yan had been thinking hard all morning, and now he said: "Sam, we don't want to be White hunters. They're no good; we want to be Indians." "Now, that's just where you fool yourself," said Sam. "Da says there ain't nothin' an Injun can do that a White-man can't do better." "Oh, what are you talking about?" said Yan warmly.
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