188 THE STORY OF THE TRAPPER 



&quot; Ah, oui, those white men, they were brave fight 

 ers, they did not know how to stop. Mais, sacre, they 

 were fools, those white men after all ! Instead of 

 hiding in ambush to catch the foe, those white men 

 measured off paces, stood up face to face and fired 

 blank oui fired blank ! Ugh ! Of course, one fool 

 he was kill and the other fool, most like, he was 

 wound ! Ugh, by Gar ! What Indian would have so 

 little sense ? &quot; * 



Of hunting tales, the Indian store is exhaustless. 

 That enormous bear-skin stretched to four pegs on the 

 wall brings up Montagnais, the Noseless One, who still 

 lives on Peace River and once slew the largest bear 

 ever killed in the Eockies, returning to this very fort 

 with one hand dragging the enormous skin and the 

 other holding the place which his nose no longer 

 graced. 



&quot; Montagnais ? Ah, bien messieur ! Montagnais, 

 he brave man ! Venez ici bien so I tole you bout 

 heem,&quot; begins some French-Canadian trapper with a 

 strong tinge of Indian blood in his swarthy skin. &quot; Bi- 

 gosh ! He brave man ! I tole you bout dat happen ! 

 Montagnais, he go stumble t rough snow how you call 

 dat ? hill, steep steep ! Oui, by Gar ! dat vas steep 

 hill ! de snow, she go slide, slide, lak de de gran 

 rapeed, see ? &quot; emphasizing the snow-slide with illus 

 trative gesture. &quot; Bien, done ! Mais, Montagnais, he 

 stick gun-stock in de snow stop heem fall so see? 

 Tonnerre! Bigosh! for sure she go off wan beeg bang! 

 Sacre! She make so much noise she wake wan beeg 



* To the Indian mind the hand-to-hand duels between white 

 traders were incomprehensible pieces of folly. 



