time for retiring arrived, the missionary was at
length obliged to hint, that he thought they would better go and see if
their wigwam was where they left it in the morning. This would
generally bring things to a crisis, and the man would say: "Ever since
we came we have only been waiting to get the present you are going to
give us for the one we gave you."

While they were contented to sell at a reasonable rate the various
things which they could supply for our needs, yet, if a present were
accepted, they expected something many times its value. Had this been
allowed to continue, we would have been speedily left destitute of
everything in the house. Therefore, not many weeks before the arrival
of this strange Indian with the venison, as a precautionary measure we
had made a rule that no more presents were to be received from the
Indians; but that for everything brought which we needed, such as meat,
fish, or moccasins, there was to be a fair tariff price mutually agreed
upon. Yet in spite of all this, here was a stalwart Indian insisting,
that I should receive a haunch of venison without payment. Judging from
some past experiences, I was fearful that if I accepted it as a present,
it would about bankrupt me. So I again said to him:

"You must let me pay you for this."

"No, no," he energetically replied. "I take no pay. It belongs to
you."

"How do you make that out?" I inquired, more perplexed than ever.

Then he proceeded to give me his explanation, which deeply interested
me, and which will also I am sure interest my readers.

First, he began by asking me a few questions:

"Did you make a trip with your guide and dog drivers to Burntwood River
last winter?"

"Yes, I did," was my answer.

"And were your dog-sleds not heavily loaded?"

"Yes," I replied.

"And was there not a heavy fall of snow followed by a blizzard, which as
you had no trail through the deep snow, made it very difficult
travelling?"

"Quite true," I replied, for all had happened just as he was describing
it. "And did you not at a certain place make a cache of some of your
pemmican and other heavy things, so as to lighten your loads, that your
dogs might make better time?"

"Yes," I answered, for well did I remember that long journey, and the
fearful storm which made travelling through the trackless forest almost
impossible.

I had gone on a journey of several hundreds of miles to carry the Gospel
to some Indians who were