Frank's generosity was of the aggressive kind, for as John Berwick's party sat in their tent that evening he stuck his head in at the door and said they could have the use of one of Haskins' saw-pits on the morrow, and probably right along.

"Don't work too hard, for I want you to be lively on Friday night! Two fellows have just blown in from Dawson, and they say the river is full of holes; so it is just as well you fellows don't have to build a pit; it looks like an early opening, maybe about the first of May."

"The river won't open by the first of May, but it will before the tenth, most likely," commented Hugh.

Next morning the party visited the yard where the scows were building, and introduced themselves to Mr. Haskins, who again informed them that the saw-pits were at their disposal when he did not require them.

"Ever do any whip-sawing?" asked Haskins.

"Some," said Hugh.

"It's no picnic."

"I never found it so. How's timber? That looks pretty good up the hill there," and Hugh pointed to a clump of spruce.

"Yes, it's all right; but you'll find bigger and clearer stuff higher up, and you can mush it down the hill easy. I suppose you have your own saw?"

With this the three friends stormed the hill. They were to cut the trees and slide them to the bottom, after which the dogs would aid in hauling them to the pit. The trees Hugh selected were the larger ones, clean and free from knots. By the close of the day sufficient logs were at the pit.

A saw "pit" is a scantling of poles eight feet high, on which the logs are placed to be sawn. The _modus operandi_ is that one man stands below the log and another on the top: the upper man pulls the saw towards him, the lower man co-operates. The work is simplicity itself, but very hard.

The three companions would want from two to three hundred feet of lumber, which meant perspiration and backache. As Hugh expressed it, "the upper man is up against about the hardest proposition a white man puts himself at, these days."

About three o'clock on the first afternoon of whip-sawing Frank Corte appeared with f.a.n.n.y at his heels. George was the upper man, and even his elastic muscles were aching at the work. Hugh was having a spell off, but keeping an eye on his friends.

"Ha! how do you fellows like hard work? This will teach you to go hunting after gold! What have you done with your last summer's wages?

Say! we're going to have a great time at the dance--a regular potlatch: one of the Sticks has just come in saying he's killed a caribou back on the hills, and is going to potlatch it. Now if I can only get some hootch! I'd give ten dollars a bottle for some."

"Better cut the hootch out," said Hugh. "The police may catch you and send you down to Dawson; and put you sawing wood for Queen Victoria. And it won't be Uncle Sam's men who will be chasing you with a Winchester."

"Yes, yes. A d.a.m.ned pity Uncle Sam would not come over and take Canada: then we should have a camp at Dawson."

George was very hot and sore; and this sort of bantering was new to him. He was in that humour which causes a man to go into a fight on little provocation; but John, he noticed, was smiling amicably, so he held his peace.

"If this was Uncle Sam's country, Soapy would have been here taking away your wages before this," laughed Hugh.

"I wouldn't kick if he could do the trick. Say! can you dance? This is going to be a swell dance all right! Wish I had enough lumber to cover the floor, so we could dance proper. Poles is mighty hard to dance on.

Well, I must be going--I have some beans boiling. Don't you fellows tire yourselves too much sawing lumber, so you can't dance to-morrow night."

CHAPTER XIII

THE DANCE

"Are you all set? Then dance! d.a.m.n you, dance! Come on, gentlemen, get partners for the next."

Frank Corte's great dance was on. Hugh and his companions stood by the door of the dining-hall. On went the dance; and through the atmosphere--thick with tobacco-smoke--the native women were guided, their bronzed faces speaking excitement.

"Come on in, gentlemen!"

The walls of the room were lined with men. Squaws, who had not yet learned the dance, sat on boxes. The three friends crowded into the room and stood with their backs against the wall. Frank Corte was beating time with his foot and clapping his hands, while he sang the calls in a weird drawl.

"Honours to the right." Each man bowed most gravely to his partner, who most respectfully returned it. "Honours to the left." Each man bowed to the lady at his left in the quadrille: and when "Swing your right-hand lady; dance around the room" came, the men grabbed their partners and whirled around--quarters were too close to permit of any great range of movement, and the squaws were so excited, they seemed to occupy more room than really they did.

"A la main left." All stood to attention. "First gent swing the left-hand lady, with the left hand round."

Every gentleman turned towards the lady on his left. The ladies turned to the right. They grasped left hands at the height of their shoulders, and pranced round to the left.

"The left hand round.--Turn your partners, with the right hand, round.--The right hand round.--All cha.s.sez!--First couple lead to the right.--Four hand round.--Dos a balnette.--Right hand to partner, and grand dos a balnette." Every man took his partner's right hand and wheeled to the right; and then her left hand. This movement brought them opposite, and so they were in a circle, at which they balanced, the men facing outwards, the women inwards.

"On to the next!"

The men wheeled, and with their ladies pivoted to the left; then the men took the hand of the ladies next on their right as they swung round. The ladies holding the men by the left gave their right hand, and at the words "dos a balnette," all again balanced--the men this time facing inwards, the ladies outwards.

"On the next!"--again brought the men facing outwards, the ladies inwards--and so on. The quadrille was concluded with,

"Promenade all Around the hall, And seat your ladies at the ball."

The faces of the crowd were wild with excitement. The music was weird and discordant. Yet John found it all very stimulating. Dance after dance was gone through, while he stayed and watched, till there came to his mind pictures of the old home--his father's house in London, and Alice Peel! Was she thinking of him?

"Say! why don't you fellows get in and dance?"

Dreams and fancies were reft away as reality, in the person of Haskins of the saw-pits, stood before John Berwick. Then he noticed George laughing at a clumsy mystified squaw, a beginner in the dance. His hilarity provoked the squaw, and, as the dance paused for a second, between her gasps and through her perspiration she hissed with a look of contempt,

"Che--chac. Ka!"

"Say! you fellows will have to get in and dance in this next set. I saw a squaw looking at you and saying 'heap dam dood,' so if you want to keep your station in society you've got to dance." Haskins was again worrying them.

"All right. Who will I ask to dance?" George was ready.

"Go and ask that squaw sitting in the corner," said Haskins, pointing across the room. She it was who had said "Heap dam dood."

George went and invited her to be his partner.

"Ni--ka halo introdux" (You have not been introduced), she answered.

This was more than George could withstand in gravity. He roared with laughter and returned to Haskins. He only guessed the meaning of the words, so he repeated them to Haskins.

"Who the devil has taught these savages up here chinook! It's a special lingo manufactured by the Hudson Bay Company to suit the savages, and when white men first came into British Columbia they found the savages with a lingo which was called white man's wa-wa, and which no person could understand; it is easy enough to learn, you can pick it up in a week; it has only about six hundred words. All the old-timers in British Columbia talk it. Dagoes, Chinese, Mexicans, Swedes, all talked it in the old days in Caribou. The Siwash calls an Englishman 'King George man' and an American 'Boston man.'"

The squaw in the corner was keeping her eye on George with evident dislike. As John noticed this he recommended their departure; so George and he went back to bed. Hugh arrived home hours later in great glee.

"You fellows will laugh at the Siwashes, eh? Well--you'll get the worst of it. George, I hear you were not sufficiently formal with one of the klootches (squaws), and got called down--ha, ha!"

On the Sunday morning following John left Hugh and George repairing their wardrobe in the tent, and was strolling past Frank Corte's kitchen to where the scows were being built.