Thus their uncouth names as Ambrose got them.  He avoided Simon’s eye, and bit his lip to keep from laughing.  The four were all small men with the fine characteristic faces of pure bred savages.

They understood not a word of what was said, but preserved an unshakable gravity throughout.  Ambrose, as they were named, christened them anew, according to their several characteristics:  Coyote, Moose, Bear and Weasel.

The last was a little shriveled creature, hung with charms and amulets in tobacco bags until he looked like a scarecrow.  He had an eye even wilder and shiftier than his master’s.

“Conjure-man,” murmured Simon in Ambrose’s ear.

“Let Ambrose Doane speak,” said Watusk.  He used good English.

Ambrose had adopted from Peter Minot the maxim:  “Make the other man speak first, and get a line on him.”  He bowed politely.  “Ambrose Doane will not speak until Watusk has spoken,” he said.

Watusk highly gratified, bowed again, and forthwith began.  “I am glad to see Ambrose Doane.  He is good to my eyes lak the green leaves in spring.  He is come to Fort Enterprise and there is no more winter.

“The name of Peter Minot and the name of Ambrose Doane make good words to my ear.  They are the friends of the red men.  They pay good price for fur.  They sell outside goods cheap.  I want a box of cigars me, same lak you send Simon Grampierre.”

Ambrose recognizing Watusk’s type was not put out by the sudden drop from the sublime to the ridiculous.  He now had a “line” on his man.  Swallowing his laughter, he answered in a similar strain.

“I am glad to see Watusk.  I wish to be his friend.  I come from the big lake six days’ journey toward the place of the rising sun.  So far as that men tell me of the Kakisa nation, and tell of Watusk who rules them.

“Men say the Kakisa men are the best hunters of the north and honest as the sun in summer-time.  Men say Watusk is a wise chief and a good friend of the white men.  I have plenty cigars in my outfit.”

The chief swelled with gratification until his much-tried buttons threatened altogether to part company with his coat.

A good deal more of this airy exchange was necessitated before Watusk could be induced to talk business.  When he finally condescended to it, the story was as Simon had forecast: 

“When Ambrose Doane come here I say to my people:  ’Trade with him.  He will be your father.  He will feed you.’  Now when they come for flour Simon Grampierre say you got no flour.

“When I go to John Gaviller for flour, he mock me.  He say:  ’You take Ambrose Doane for your father.  All right.  Let him feed you now.’  So I am not know what to do.  Every day my people more ongry, more mad.

“Pretty soon the young men make trouble.  There is no game here.  We can’t stay here without flour.  We can’t go back without flour.  I am feel moch bad.  But Ambrose Doane is come now.  It is all right!”