Snettishane grunted and suggested Wanidani, who was an old woman and toothless.

“No, no,” interposed the Factor.  “What I want is a wife.  I’ve been kind of thinking about it, and the thought just struck me that you might know of some one that would suit.”

Snettishane looked interested, whereupon the Factor retraced his steps, casually and carelessly to linger and discuss this new and incidental topic.

“Kattou?” suggested Snettishane.

“She has but one eye,” objected the Factor.

“Laska?”

“Her knees be wide apart when she stands upright.  Kips, your biggest dog, can leap between her knees when she stands upright.”

“Senatee?” went on the imperturbable Snettishane.

But John Fox feigned anger, crying:  “What foolishness is this?  Am I old, that thou shouldst mate me with old women?  Am I toothless? lame of leg? blind of eye?  Or am I poor that no bright-eyed maiden may look with favour upon me?  Behold!  I am the Factor, both rich and great, a power in the land, whose speech makes men tremble and is obeyed!”

Snettishane was inwardly pleased, though his sphinx-like visage never relaxed.  He was drawing the Factor, and making him break ground.  Being a creature so elemental as to have room for but one idea at a time, Snettishane could pursue that one idea a greater distance than could John Fox.  For John Fox, elemental as he was, was still complex enough to entertain several glimmering ideas at a time, which debarred him from pursuing the one as single-heartedly or as far as did the chief.

Snettishane calmly continued calling the roster of eligible maidens, which, name by name, as fast as uttered, were stamped ineligible by John Fox, with specified objections appended.  Again he gave it up and started to return to the Fort.  Snettishane watched him go, making no effort to stop him, but seeing him, in the end, stop himself.

“Come to think of it,” the Factor remarked, “we both of us forgot Lit-lit.  Now I wonder if she’ll suit me?”

Snettishane met the suggestion with a mirthless face, behind the mask of which his soul grinned wide.  It was a distinct victory.  Had the Factor gone but one step farther, perforce Snettishane would himself have mentioned the name of Lit-lit, but—­the Factor had not gone that one step farther.

The chief was non-committal concerning Lit-lit’s suitability, till he drove the white man into taking the next step in order of procedure.

“Well,” the Factor meditated aloud, “the only way to find out is to make a try of it.”  He raised his voice.  “So I will give for Lit-lit ten blankets and three pounds of tobacco which is good tobacco.”

Snettishane replied with a gesture which seemed to say that all the blankets and tobacco in all the world could not compensate him for the loss of Lit-lit and her manifold virtues.  When pressed by the Factor to set a price, he coolly placed it at five hundred blankets, ten guns, fifty pounds of tobacco, twenty scarlet cloths, ten bottles of rum, a music-box, and lastly the good-will and best offices of the Factor, with a place by his fire.