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Updated: June 17, 2025
The girl arose with a gesture of impatience, and Miss Penny returned to MacNair. "He is so big, and coarse, and horrible! I am sure even his looks are enough to frighten a person to death." Chloe sniffed. "I think he is handsome, and he is big and strong. I like big people." "But, my dear!" cried the horrified Miss Penny. "He he kills Indians!"
"Dear me, Elk," said his brother, quietly; "I don't presume to be worth five thousand dollars, all told. But I suppose you have genius and opportunity, and the times are wondrous for men of acquaintance and enterprise." Jabel Blake stared at Elk MacNair a long while without speaking. The sudden revelation that Elk MacNair was very rich had, on the whole, a depressing effect.
One by one the man attacked the other pieces marked with the name of MacNair, and as each cask was smashed, the whiskey gurgled and splashed and seeped into the ground. Chloe watched breathlessly until Lapierre finished, and with a smile of grim satisfaction, tossed the ax upon the ground. "There is one consignment of firewater that will never be delivered," he said.
"I am not afraid! Send your Indians to me, if you will; and when you send them, bid good-by to them forever." MacNair nodded. "I will send them," he answered, and, turning abruptly upon his heel, disappeared into the scrub. The journey down the Yellow Knife consumed six days, and it was a journey fraught with many hardships for Chloe Elliston, unaccustomed as she was to trail travel.
Whereupon he faced them and, striking an attitude, harangued them in their own tongue. He had come, he said, hoping to find MacNair and to plead with him to deal fairly with his people. It is true that MacNair pays more for the labour of their hands than the company does for their furs, and in doing so he has proved himself a friend of the Indians. But he can well afford to pay more.
For the wily quarter-breed, knowing that MacNair would instantly suspect the source of the whiskey, had, upon his arrival, removed the remaining casks from the storehouse, and conveyed them with all haste to his stronghold on Lac du Mort.
Despite the fact that Chloe had known them only as fierce roisterers she was forced to admit that they looked harmless and peaceful enough, under the chastening effect of a week of starvation. MacNair wasted no time, but striding up to the girl, who stood upon the veranda of her cottage, plunged unceremoniously into the business at hand. "Do not misunderstand me," he began gruffly.
Could this be he whom men called Brute this simple-spoken, straightforward, boyish man who had endured hardships and spared no effort, that the mother he had never known might lie in her eternal rest beneath the green sod of her native land, far from the sights, and sounds that, in life, had become a torture to her soul, and worn her, at last, to the grave? "Mr. MacNair."
Just a boy and you shot him in the back!" The voice trembled with the scorn of her words. MacNair pushed roughly past her. "Don't be a damn fool!" he growled, and called over his shoulder: "Better rest him up for three or four days, and send him down to Fort Resolution. He'll stand the trip all right by that time, and the doctor may want to poke around for that bullet."
As I told you before, I do not know where my ideal site is to be found. I had intended to talk the matter over with the factor at Fort Rae." "What! That devil of a Haldane? The man who is hand-in-glove with Brute MacNair!" "You forget," smiled the girl, "that until this day I never even heard of Brute MacNair." The man smiled. "Very true. I had forgotten.
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