In the eyes of both, as they regarded each other, were memories known
to no one else. McElroy wondered what they were and what that year, of
which Ridgar had spoken only once, had held.
The trader spoke their tongue as easily as he spoke any other that came
to the post, naturally and with quiet fluency.
So deep was the apparent pleasure of the meeting that, when the
interpreting was done and the ceremonies over, Ridgar went with the
Indian among the tepees and no more did McElroy see him until he came
to the factory at dusk.
"Mother of Heaven!" he ejaculated, flinging himself down at the table
in the living-room where Rette's strong coffee tempted the nostril;
"such furs! Beaver in countless packs, all the fat winter skins, no
Bordeaux, no Mittain. Fox, also of the best only,--black fox, fine and
shining, fox of those far-north regions where they hunt beyond the sun,
white as the snow it runs on, and Mon Dieu, McElroy! Seven silvers as I
hope for salvation! Verily are they a prize beyond price, these Indians
that have come in to us, and I fancy that young Nor'wester is swearing
at his luck in losing them. Old Quamenoka struts as if their wealth
belonged to his meek Assiniboines.
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