A few hours later he was back again, looking older and shakier
than ever, his wet red eyes looking like plague spots in his ashy
brown visage or like volcanic eruptions in a desert of dead lava,
and in husky, clicking accents he told Billy to tell the Okimow
that the pills were no good - not strong enough for him.
"Well," I said, "he shall surely have results this time." I gave
him three big ones in a cup of hot tea. All the Indians love tea,
and it seems to help them. Under its cheering power the old man's
tongue was loosened. He talked more clearly, and Billy, whose
knowledge of Chipewyan is fragmentary at best, suddenly said: "I'm
afraid I made, a mistake. Bezkya says the pills are too strong.
Can't you give him something to stop them?
"Goodness," I thought; "here's a predicament," but I didn't know
what to do. I remembered a western adage, "When you don't know a
thing to do, don't do a thing." I only said: "Tell Bezkya to go home,
go to bed, and stay there till to-morrow, then come here again."
Away went the Indian to his lodge. I felt rather uneasy that day
and night, and the next morning looked with some eagerness for the
return of Bezkya. But he did not come and I began to grow unhappy.
I wanted some evidence that I had not done him an injury. I wished
to see him, but professional etiquette forbade me betraying myself
by calling on him. Noon came and no Bezkya; late afternoon, and
then I sallied forth, not to seek him, but to pass near his lodge,
as though I were going to the Hudson's Bay store. And there, to my
horror, about the lodge I saw a group of squaws, with shawls over
their heads, whispering, together. As I went by, all turned as one
of them pointed at me, and again they whispered.
"Oh, heavens!" I thought; "I've killed the old man." But still
I would not go in. That night I did not sleep for worrying about
it. Next morning I was on the point of sending Billy to learn the
state of affairs, when who should come staggering up but old Bezkya.
He was on two crutches now, his complexion was a dirty gray, and
his feeble knees were shaking, but he told Billy - yes, unmistakably
this time - to tell the Okimow that that was great medicine I had
given him, and he wanted a dose just like it for his wife.
CHAPTER XIII
FORT SMITH AND THE SOCIAL QUEEN
Several times during our river journey I heard reference to
an extraordinary woman in the lower country, one who gave herself
great airs, put on style, who was so stuck up, indeed, that she had
"two pots, one for tea, one for coffee." Such incredible pomposity
and arrogance naturally invited sarcastic comment from all the
world, and I was told I should doubtless see this remarkable person
at Fort Smith.
