270 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



chapter. As before stated, that was not his name then, 

 but he didn't know it. He squatted by the fire and 

 grunted: "Bon jour, Nidgee," a salutation of mixed 

 French and Ojibway that all those Indians used. Henry 

 returned his salute, and said to him in Ojibway that he 

 was welcome. 



"Where did you learn to speak that?" I asked. 



"Off up the Wisconsin River with a logging party one 

 winter. Why?" 



"Nothing, only I was surprised, that's all. If I'd 

 known you spoke it we could have knocked lots of fun 

 out of your brother Frank on our fishing trips. But 

 you have made this man welcome, and that he will inter- 

 pret to mean free feeding, perhaps all winter, and as I am 

 camp keeper, McBride will ask questions if we feed too 

 many. He doesn't like an Indian, and told me not to 

 have them hanging around camp, so don't do this any 

 more." 



"All right," said Henry; "I spoke without thinking. 

 If there's lots of pork boiled let's fill this fellow up and 

 see how much he can hold." 



I told him that I had boiled enough pork for all hands 

 to have cold to-night, but if his guest ate half of it I 

 would boil more. 



I made all ready, and our aboriginal American an- 

 nounced himself as Ah-mik-wash, or "Beaver House." 

 Henry remarked: "He differs somewhat from a beaver 

 house, and as to the last part of his name I'll bet he 

 hasn't washed in ten years." 



"Henry, keep quiet!" Then tapping my breast I 

 said: "Kego-e-kay," and then touching Henry, intro- 

 duced him as Ke-tim-ish-ke (He-is-lazy). Old Beaver 

 House grunted, and I served an equal portion of bread, 

 baked beans and pork to each. There was enough for 



