the tale of one who had served on the boat brigade
with Wolseley when he fought his way to Khartoum.

And when he tired, a cowboy told of courts and kings and lords and
ladies he had seen when Buffalo Bill toured the capitals of Europe. In
a corner two half-breeds, ancient comrades in a lost campaign, mended
harnesses and talked of the days when the Northwest flamed with
insurrection and Louis Riel was king.

Rough jests and rougher jokes went up and down, and great hazards by
trail and river were spoken of in the light of commonplaces, only to be
recalled by virtue of some grain of humor or ludicrous happening.
Prince was led away by these uncrowned heroes who had seen history
made, who regarded the great and the romantic as but the ordinary and
the incidental in the routine of life. He passed his precious tobacco
among them with lavish disregard, and rusty chains of reminiscence were
loosened, and forgotten odysseys resurrected for his especial benefit.

When conversation dropped and the travelers filled the last pipes and
lashed their tight-rolled sleeping furs. Prince fell back upon his
comrade for further information.

'Well, you know what the cowboy is,' Malemute Kid answered, beginning
to unlace his moccasins; 'and it's not hard to guess the British blood
in his bed partner. As for the rest, they're all children of the
coureurs du bois, mingled with God knows how many other bloods. The two
turning in by the door are the regulation 'breeds' or Boisbrules. That
lad with the worsted breech scarf--notice his eyebrows and the turn of
his jaw--shows a Scotchman wept in his mother's smoky tepee. And that
handsome looking fellow putting the capote under his head is a French
half-breed--you heard him talking; he doesn't like the two Indians
turning in next to him. You see, when the 'breeds' rose under the Riel
the full-bloods kept the peace, and they've not lost much love for one
another since.' 'But I say, what's that glum-looking fellow by the
stove? I'll swear he can't talk English. He hasn't opened his mouth all
night.' 'You're wrong. He knows English well enough. Did you follow his
eyes when he listened? I did. But he's neither kith nor kin to the
others. When they talked their own patois you could see he didn't
understand. I've been wondering myself what he is. Let's find out.'
'Fire a couple of sticks into the stove!'

Malemute Kid commanded, raising his voice and looking squarely at the
man in question.

H