The real concern with which the men were looking
forward to the event.
For two precious days we had been unable to move on account of the
storms. The rain had fallen steadily all day, changing to snow
towards evening, and now, though the downpour had ceased, the black
clouds still fled rolling and tossing over head before the gale,
which roared through the spruce forest, and sent the smoke of the
big camp fire whirling now this way, now that, as it found its way
into our sheltered nook.
George and Joe were telling amusing stories of their boyhood
experiences at Rupert's House, the pranks they played on their
teacher, their fights, football, and other games, and while they
talked I bestowed some special care upon my revolver. Job sat
smoking his pipe, listening with a merry light in his gleaming,
black eyes, and Gilbert lounged on the opposite side of the fire
with open-mouthed boyish attention.
The talk drifted to stories of the Indians, tributary to Rupert's
House, and the practical jokes perpetrated on them while camped
about the post to which they brought each spring from the far
interior their winter's catch of furs. There were stories of
Hannah Bay massacre, and the retribution which followed swift and
certain; and of their own trips inland, and the hospitality of the
Indians.
