Читать книгу The Fur Bringers - Footner Hulbert - Страница 19

Ambrose was awakened in his mosquito-tent by an alarm from Job. The sun was just up, and it was therefore no more than three o'clock. A visitor was approaching in a canoe.

In the North a caller is a caller. Ambrose crept out of his blankets and, swallowing his yawns, stuck his head in the river to clear his brain.

The visitor was a handsome young breed of Ambrose's own age. Ambrose surveyed his broad shoulders, his thin, graceful waist and thighs approvingly. He rejoiced in an animal built for speed and endurance. Moreover, the young man's glance was direct and calm. This was a native who respected himself.

"Tole Grampierre, me," he said, offering his hand.

Ambrose grasped it. "I'm Ambrose Doane," he said.

"I know," said the young breed. "Las' night I go to the store. The boys say Ambrose Doane, the free-trader, is camp' down the river. So I talk wit' my fat'er. I say I go and shake Ambrose Doane by the hand."

"Will you eat?" said Ambrose. "It is early."

"When you are ready," answered Tole politely. "I come early. I go back before they get up at the fort. If old man Gaviller know I come to you it mak' trouble. My fat'er he got trouble enough wit' Gaviller."

Tole squatted on the beach. There is an established ritual of politeness in the North, and he was punctilious.

"You are well?" he asked gravely. Ambrose set about making his fire.

"I am well," he said.

"Your partner, he is well?"

"Peter Minot is well."

"You do good trade at Lake Miwasa?"

"Yes. Marten is plentiful."

"Good fur here, too. Not much marten; plenty link."

"Your father is well?" asked Ambrose in turn.

"My fat'er is well," said Tole. "My four brot'ers well, too."

"I am glad," said Ambrose.

More polite conversation was exchanged while Ambrose waited for his guest to declare the object of his visit. It came at last.

"Often I talk wit' my fat'er," said Tole. "I say there is not'ing for me here. Old man Gaviller all tam mad at us. We don't get along. I say I fink I go east to Lake Miwasa. There is free trade there. Maybe I get work in the summer. When they tell me Ambrose Doane is come, I say this is lucky. I will talk wit' him."

"Good," said Ambrose.

"Wat you t'ink?" asked Tole, masking anxiety under a careless air. "Is there work at Moultrie in the summer?"

Ambrose instinctively liked and trusted his man. "Sure," he said.

"There is room for good men."

"Good," said Tole calmly. "I go back wit' you."

Ambrose had a strong curiosity to learn of the situation at Fort Enterprise. "What do you mean by saying old man Gaviller is mad at you?" he asked.

"I tell you," said Tole. He filled his pipe and got it going well before he launched on his tale.

"My fat'er, Simon Grampierre, he is educate'," he began. "He read in books, he write, he spik Angleys, he spik French, he spik the Cree. We are Cree half-breed. My fat'er's fat'er, my mot'er's fat'er, they white men. We are proud people. We own plenty land. We live in a good house. We are workers.

"All the people on ot'er side the river call my fat'er head man. When there is trouble all come to our house to talk to my fat'er because he is educate'. He got good sense.

"Before, I tell you there is good fur here. It is the truth. But the people are poor. Every year they are more poor as last year. The people say: 'Bam-by old man Gaviller tak' our shirts! He got everyt'ing else.' They ask my fat'er w'at to do."

Tole went on: "Always my fat'er say: 'Wait,' he say. 'We got get white man on our side. We got get white man who knows all outside ways. He bring an outfit in and trade wit' us.' The people don't want to wait. 'We starve!' they say.

"My fat'er say: 'Non! Gaviller not let you starve. For why, because you not bring him any fur if you dead. He will keep you goin' poor. Be patient,' my fat'er say. 'This is rich country. It is known outside. Bam-by some white man come wit' outfit and pay good prices.'

"Always my fat'er try to have no trouble," continued Tole. "But old man Gaviller hear about the meetings at our house. He hear everyt'ing. He write a letter to my fat'er that the men mus' come no more.

"My fat'er write back. My fat'er say: 'This my house. This people my relations, my friends. My door is open to all.' Then old man Gaviller is mad. He call my fat'er mal-content. He tak' away his discount."

"Discount?" interrupted Ambrose.

Tole frowned at the difficulty of explaining this in English. "All goods in the store marked by prices," he said slowly. "Too moch prices. Gaviller say for good men and good hunters he tak' part of price away. He tak' a quarter part of price away. He call that discount. If a man mak' him mad he put it back again."

The working out of such a scheme was clear to Ambrose. "Hm!" he commented grimly. "This is how a monopoly gets in its innings."

"Always my fat'er not want any trouble," Tole went on. "Pretty soon, I t'ink, the people not listen to him no more. They are mad. This year there will be trouble about the grain. Gaviller put the price down to dollar-fifty bushel. But he sell flour the same."

"Do you mean to say he buys your grain at his own price, and sells you back the flour at his own price?" demanded Ambrose.

Tole nodded. "My fat'er the first farmer here," he explained. "Long tam ago when I was little boy, Gaviller come to my fat'er. He say: 'You have plenty good land. You grow wheat and I grind it, and both mak' money.'

"My fat'er say: 'I got no plow, no binder, no thresher.' Gaviller say: 'I bring them in for you.' Gaviller say: 'I pay you two-fifty bushel for wheat. I can do it up here. You pay me for the machines a little each year.'

"My fat'er t'ink about it. He is not moch for farm. But he t'ink, well, some day there is no more fur. But always there is mouths for bread. If I be farmer and teach my boys, they not starve when fur is no more.

"My fat'er say to Gaviller: 'All right.' Writings are made and signed. The ot'er men with good land on the river, they say they raise wheat, too.

"After that the machines is brought in. Good crops is raised.

Ev'rything is fine. Bam-by Gaviller put the price down to

two-twenty-five. Bam-by he only pay two dollar. Tams is hard, he say.

Las' year he pay one-seventy-five. Now he say one-fifty all he pay.

"The farmers say they so poor now, might as well have nothing. They say they not cut the grain this year. Gaviller say it is his grain. He will go on their land and cut it. There will be trouble."

"This is a kind of slavery!" cried Ambrose.

"There is more to mak' trouble," Tole went on with his calm air. "Three years ago Gaviller build a fine big steamboat. He say: 'Now, boys, you can go outside when you want.' He says: 'This big boat will bring us ev'rything good and cheap from outside.'

"But when she start it is thirty dollars for a man to go to the Crossing. And fifty cents for every meal. Nobody got so much money as that.

"It is the same to bring t'ings in. Not'ing is cheaper. Jean Bateese Gagnon, he get a big book from outside. In that book there is all things to buy and pictures to show them. The people outside will send you the t'ings. You send money in a letter."

"Mail order catalogue," suggested Ambrose.

"That is the name of the book," said Tole. In describing its wonders he lost, for the first time, some of his imperturbable air. "Wa! Wa! All is so cheap inside that book. It is wonderful. Three suits of clothes cost no more as one at the Company store.

"Everyt'ing is in that book. A man can get shirts of silk. A man can get a machine to milk a cow. All the people want to send money for t'ings. Gaviller say no. Gaviller say steamboat only carry Company freight. Gaviller say: 'Come to me for what you want and I get it—at regular prices.'"

"And this is supposed to be a free country," said Ambrose.

"The men are mad," continued Tole. "They do not'ing. Only Jean Bateese Gagnon. He is the mos' mad. He say he don' care. He send the money for a plow las' summer. All wait to see w'at Gaviller will do.

"Gaviller let the steamboat bring it down. He say the freight is fifteen dollars. Jean Bateese say: 'Tak' it back again. I won't pay.' Gaviller say: 'You got to pay.' He put it on the book against Gagnon."

Tole related other incidents of a like character, Ambrose listened with ever mounting indignation. There could be no mistaking the truthful ring of the simple details.

Not only was Ambrose's sense of humanity up in arms, but the trader in him was angered that a competitor should profit by such unfair means. With a list of grievances on one side and unqualified sympathy on the other, the two progressed in friendship.

They breakfasted together, Job making a third. Ambrose found himself more and more strongly drawn to the young fellow. He was reminded that he had no friend of his own age in the country. Tole, he said to himself, was whiter than many a white man he had known.

Job, who as a rule drew the colorline sharply, was polite to Tole. Job was pleased because Tole ignored him. Uninvited overtures from strangers made Job self-conscious.

Tole and Ambrose, being young, drifted away from serious business after a while. They discussed sport. Tole lost some of his gravity in talking about hunting the moose.

Not until Tole was on the point of embarking did the real object of his visit transpire. "My father say he want you come to his house," he said diffidently.

"Sure I will," said Ambrose.

Tole lingered by his dugout, affecting to test the elasticity of his paddle on the stones. He glanced at Ambrose with a speculative eye.

"Maybe you and Peter Minot open a store across the river and trade with us," he suggested with a casual air.

Ambrose was staggered by the possibilities it opened up. He knew the idea was already in Peter's mind. What if he, Ambrose, should be chosen to carry it out? He sparred for wind.

"I don't know," he said warily. "There is much to be considered. I will talk with your father."

Tole nodded and pushed off.