he rival concern, was a much humbler affair. It
stood half-way on the short stream which connects Beaver Bay with the
lake proper, and was the first establishment reached by the traveller
from outside. It consisted of two little houses built of lumber from
the mission sawmill; the first house contained the store, the other
across the road was known as the "Kitchen."

Mahooley pointed to them with pride as the only houses north of the
landing built of boards, but they had a sad and awkward look there in
the wilderness, notwithstanding.

Within the store of the French outfit, Stiffy, the trader, was audibly
totting up his accounts in his little box at the rear, while Mahooley,
his associate, sat with his chair tipped back and his heels on the
cold stove. Their proper names were Henry Stiff and John Mahool, but
as Stiffy and Mahooley they were known from Miwasa Landing to Fort
Ochre.

The shelves of the store were sadly depleted; never was a store open
for business with so little in it. A few canned goods of ancient
vintages and a bolt or two of coloured cotton were all that could be
seen. Nevertheless, the French outfit was a factor to be reckoned
with.

There was no fur going now, and the astute Stiffy and Mahooley were
content to let custom pass their door. Later on they would reach out
for it.

Mahooley was bored and querulous. This was the dullest of dull
seasons, for the natives were off pitching on their summer grounds,
and travel from the outside world had not yet started.

Stiffy and Mahooley were a pair of "good hard guys," but here the
resemblance ended. Stiffy was dry, scanty-haired, mercantile; Mahooley
was noisy, red-faced, of a fleshly temperament, and a wag, according
to his lights.

"I'd give a dollar for a new newspaper," growled Mahooley.

"That's you, always grousin' for nothin' to do!" said his partner.
"Why don't you keep busy like me?"

"Say, if I was like you I'd walk down to the river here and I'd get in
the scow and I'd push off, and when I got in the middle I'd say,
'Lord, crack this nut if you can! It's too much for me!' and I'd step
off."

"Ah, shut up! You've made me lose a whole column!"

"Go to hell!"

Thus they bickered endlessly to pass the time.

Suddenly the door opened and a stranger entered, a white man.

As a rule, the slightest disturbance of their routine was heralded in
advance by "moccasin telegraph," and this was like a bolt from the
blue. Mahooley's chair cam