“I have brought your flour,” said Ambrose with a note of exultation justifiable under the circumstances.

Watusk was not impressed.  “It is well,” he said with a stolid nod.

Ambrose was somewhat taken aback.  An instant told him that Watusk alone of all the tribe was not glad to see the flour.  Ambrose scented a mystery.

“Where you get the flour?” asked Watusk politely.

“I borrowed Gaviller’s mill to grind it,” Ambrose answered in kind.

Watusk’s eyes narrowed.  He puffed out his cheeks a little, and Ambrose saw that an oration was impending.

“I hope there will be no trouble,” the Indian began self-importantly.  “Always when there is trouble the red man get blame.  When the fur is scarce, when summer frost turn the wheat black it is the same.  They say the red man make bad medicine.

“Two white men have a fight, red man come along, know nothing.  Those two white men say it is his fault, and kick him hard.  You break open Gaviller’s mill.  Gaviller is mad, send for police.  When the police come I think they say it is Watusk’s fault.  Send him to jail!”

It was evident from this that Watusk was pretty well informed of what had happened.  “How do you know they have sent for the police?” Ambrose demanded.

Watusk shrugged expressively.  “I see the launch go up the river in a hurry,” he said.

In the light of his insolent demand two days before, the Indian’s present attitude was more than exasperating.  “This is foolishness,” said Ambrose sharply.  “I sell you the flour.  How I got it is my affair.  I take the responsibility.  The police will deal with me!”

“I hope so,” said Watusk smugly.

“I have made out a receipt,” Ambrose went on.  “You sign it, then distribute the flour among the people, and give me the men’s names so I can charge them on my book.

“To-morrow I give it out,” said Watusk.  “To-day I put the flour in Gaston Trudeau’s empty house by the river.  Maybe goin’ to rain to-night.”

“Just as you like about that,” said Ambrose.  “When are you going to pull out for home?”

“Soon,” replied Watusk vaguely.

“They tell me it is the best time now to hunt the moose,” remarked Ambrose suggestively.  “And the bear’s fur is coming in thick and soft.  You have been here two weeks without hunting.”

Again Watusk’s eyes narrowed like a sulky child’s.  “Must the Kakisas got hunt every day?” he asked spreading out his hands.  “The people are weak with hunger.  We got eat before we travel.”

Ambrose left this interview in a highly dissatisfied state of mind.

Later in the day Watusk must have thought better of his surliness for he sent a polite message to Ambrose at Simon Grampierre’s house, requesting him and Simon to come to a tea dance that night.

He had borrowed Jack Mackenzie’s house for the affair since no teepee was big enough to contain it.  Mackenzie’s was the first house west of the Kakisa encampment.