Lapierre nodded, scowling.  He trusted LeFroy; and having recognized in him one as unscrupulous and nearly as resourceful and penetrating as himself, had placed him in charge of the canoemen, the men who, in the words of the leader, “kept cases on the North,” and to whose lot fell the final distribution of the whiskey to the Indians.  But so, also, had he trusted the boasting, flaunting Vermilion.

“All right; but keep your eye on him,” he said, smiling sardonically, “and you may learn a lesson.  Now you listen to me.  You are to stay here.  Miss Elliston wants you for her chief trader.  Make out your list of supplies—­fill that storehouse up with stuff.  She wants you to undersell the H.B.C.—­and you do it.  Get the trade in here—­see?  Keep your prices down to just below Company prices, and then skin ’em on the fur—­and—­well, I don’t need to tell you how.  Give ’em plenty of debt and we’ll fix the books.  Pick put a half-dozen of your best men and keep ’em here.  Tell ’em to obey Miss Elliston’s orders; and whatever you do, keep cases on MacNair.  But don’t start anything.  Pass the word out and fill up her school.  Give her plenty to do, and keep ’em orderly.  I’ll handle the canoemen and pick up the fur, and then I’ve got to drop down the river and run in the supplies.  I’ll run in some rifles, and some of the stuff, too.”

LeFroy looked at his chief in surprise.

“Vermilion—­she got ten keg on de scow—­” he began.

Lapierre laughed.

“Vermilion, eh?  Do you know where Vermilion is?”

LeFroy shook his head.

“He’s in hell—­that’s where he is—­I dismissed him from my service.  He didn’t run straight.  Some others went along with him—­and there are more to follow.  Vermilion thought he could double-cross me and get away with it.”  And again he laughed.

LeFroy shuddered and made no comment.  Lapierre continued: 

“Make out your list of supplies, and if I don’t show up in the mean time, meet me at the mouth of the Slave three weeks from today.  I’ve got to count days if I get back before the freeze-up.  And remember this—­you are working for Miss Elliston; we’ve got a big thing if we work it right; we’ve got MacNair where we want him at last.  She thinks he’s running in whiskey and raising hell with the Indians north of here.  Keep her thinking so; and later, when it comes to a show-down—­well, she is not only rich, but she’s in good at Ottawa—­see?”

LeFroy nodded.  He was a man of few words, was LeFroy; dour and taciturn, but a man of brains and one who stood in wholesome fear of his master.

“And now,” continued Lapierre, “break camp and load the canoes.  I must pull out tonight.  Pick out your men and move ’em at once into the barracks.  You understand everything now?”

“Oui,” answered LeFroy, and stepping from the tent, passed swiftly from fire to fire, issuing commands in low guttural.  Lapierre rolled a cigarette, and taking a guitar from its case, seated himself upon his blankets and played with the hand of a master as he sang a love-song of old France.  All about him sounded the clatter of lodge-poles, the thud of packs, and the splashing of water as the big canoes were pushed into the river and loaded.