To a woman they peeped at the gate from all the cabins of the post,
save only that one who had been most eager before when the Indians
came, Maren Le Moyne, sitting in idle apathy on her sister's doorstep.
"Ma'amselle," said Marc Dupre, stopping hesitant before her, "have you
seen the Nakonkirhirinons?"
"Nay," she said listlessly, "I care not, M'sieu."
And the youth went gloomily away.
"Something there is which preys on her like the blood-sucker on the
rabbit's throat. But what? Holy Mother, what?"
His handsome eyes were troubled.
By dawn on the following day the trading had begun. Up the main way
passed a line of braves, each laden with his winter's catch of furs, to
barter at the trading-room, haggle with the clerks by sign and
pantomime, and pass down again with gun and hatchet and axe, kettle and
bright blanket, beads, and, most eagerly sought of all, yards of
crimson cloth.
There was babble of chatter among the squaws, shrill laughter, and
comparison of purchases.
In the trading-room sat the chief with his headmen and old Quamenoka of
the Assiniboines, smoking gravely many pipes and listening to the
trading. Like some wild eagle of the peaks brought down to earth he
seemed, ever alert and watchful behind his stately silence.
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