to be treated lak big man. It is no harm when you are trading with
them."

Ambrose agreed. "So this what's-his-name fancies himself," he remarked
while they waited.

"It is so," said Simon, grimly. "Thinks he is a king! All puff up
with wind lak a bull frog. He mak' me mad with his foolishness. What
would you? You cannot deal with the Kakisas only what he say. Because
only Watusk speaks English. He does what he wants."

"And can nobody here speak Kakisa?" Ambrose asked.

"Nobody but Gordon Strange. It is hard talk on the tongue."

"What else about him?"

"Wa! I have told you," said Simon. "You will know him when you see!
All tam show off lak a cock-grouse in mating-time. He is not Kakisa.
He is a Cree who went with them long tam ago. Some say his father was
a black man."

"So!" said Ambrose. "And they stand for that?"

Simon shrugged. "The Kakisas a funny people. Not mix with the whites,
not mix with other Indians lak Crees. They keep old ways. They not
talk about their ways to other men. So nobody knows what they do at
home." Simon lowered his voice. "Some say cannibals."

"Pooh!" said Ambrose, "that yarn is told about every strange tribe!"

"Maybe," said Simon, cautiously. "I do not know myself."

The Indian boy returning, signified that Joey Providence Watusk awaited
them.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE STAFF OF LIFE.

Lifting the blind over the entrance, Ambrose dived inside the teepee,
Simon Grampierre at his heels. In the center a small fire burned on
the ground, and behind it sat five dark-skinned figures in a semicircle.

Not one of the five faces changed a muscle at their entrance. The
principal man with a grave inclination of the head, waved them a
blanket which had been placed for them opposite him.

It was like an old-time Indian council, but the picturesqueness was a
good deal spoiled by the gingham shirts they wore, and the ill-fitting
coats and trousers from the store.

Moreover, the red men's pipes, instead of the graceful calumets were
English briars with showy silver bands. The bowl of Watusk's pipe, of
which he appeared to be inordinately proud, was roughly carved into the
likeness of a death's head.

Watusk was an extraordinary figure. Ambrose was reminded of a quack
doctor in poor circumstances. He was middle-aged and flabby, and had
long, straggling gray hair, bound round with a cotton fillet, none too
clean.

He wore a frock coat all buttoned up bef