. He was a hunchback, but a gay
little man nevertheless; reputedly a genius in the art of shooting
rapids. He was also a demon to work, when allowed; but the sergeant
would not allow him.

It suited the sergeant's humour to lag behind the other boats by way
of asserting his dignity and proving that he, Barboux, held himself
at no trumpery colonial's beck and call. Also he had begun to nurse
a scheme; as will appear by and by.

At present it amused him to order the canoe to shore for an hour or
two in the heat of the day, lend his bayonet to the Indians, and
watch, smoking, while they searched the banks and dug out musquashes.
These they cooked and ate; which Barboux asserted to be good economy,
since provisions were running short. It occurred to John that this
might be a still better reason for hurrying forward, but he was
grateful for the siesta under the boughs while the Indians worked.
They were Ojibways both, the elder by name Menehwehna and the younger
(a handsome fellow with a wonderful gift of silence) Muskingon.

Since that one stealthy act of kindness Menehwehna had given no sign
of cordiality. John had tried a score of times to catch his eye, and
had caught it once or twice, but only to find the man inscrutable.
Yet he was by no means taciturn; but seemed, as his warpaint of soot
and vermilion wore thinner, to thaw into what (for an Indian) might
pass for geniality. After a successful rat-hunt he would even grow
loquacious, seating himself on the bank and jabbering while he
skinned his spoils, using for the most part a jargon of broken French
(in which he was fluent) and native words of which Barboux understood
very few and John none at all. When he fell back on Ojibway pure and
simple, it was to address Muskingon, who answered in monosyllables,
and was sparing of these. Muskingon and McQuarters were the silent
men of the party--the latter by force as well as choice, since he
knew no French and in English could only converse with John.
He and Muskingon had this further in common--they both detested the
sergeant.

John, for his part, had patched up a peace with the man, after this
fashion: On the second day Barboux had called upon le Chameau for a
song; and, the little hunchback having given "En roulant ma boule,"
demanded another.

"But it is monsieur's turn, who has a charming voice," suggested le
Chameau politely.

"It has the misfortune to grate on the ears of our English milord,"
Barboux a