The Indians never call him
anything but the White Medicine Man. And even if they had picked up the
name Imbrie at the post, they never speak of a man by his Christian
name. If they had heard the name Ernest I doubt if they could pronounce
it. Sounds as if he knew the name beforehand. Queer if there should be
any connection there. I wish I hadn't let him go so easily.--Oh, well,
it's too late to worry about it now. The steamboat will get to the
Crossing before he does. I'll drop a line to Lambert to keep an eye on
him."

CHAPTER III

THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR

At Fort Enterprise a busy time followed. The big steamboat ("big" of
course only for lack of anything bigger than a launch to compare with)
had to be put in the water and outfitted, and the season's catch of fur
inventoried, baled and put aboard. By Victoria Day all was ready. They
took the day off to celebrate with games and oratory (chiefly for the
benefit of the helpless natives) followed by a big bonfire and dance at
Simon Grampierre's up the river.

Next morning the steamboat departed up-stream, taking Captain Stinson,
Mathews, and most of the native employees of the post in her crew. Doc
Giddings and Stonor watched her go, each with a little pain at the
breast; she was bound towards the great busy world, world of infinite
delight, of white women, lights, music, laughter and delicate feasting;
in short, to them the world of romance. They envied the very bales of
fur aboard that were bound for the world's great market-places. On the
other hand, John Gaviller watched the steamboat go with high
satisfaction. To him she represented Profit. He never knew homesickness,
because he was at home. For him the world revolved around Fort
Enterprise. As for Gordon Strange, the remaining member of the quartette
who watched her go, no one ever really knew what he thought.

The days that followed were the dullest in the whole year. The natives
had departed for their summer camps, and there was no one left around
the post but the few breed farmers. To Stonor, who was twenty-seven
years old, these days were filled with a strange unrest; for the coming
of summer with its universal blossoming was answered by a surge in his
own youthful blood--and he had no safety-valve. A healthy instinct urged
him to a ceaseless activity; he made a garden behind his quarters; he
built a canoe (none of your clumsy dug-outs, but a well-turned
Peterboro' model sheathed with bass-wood); h