regarding him. But Little Hammer was oblivious to any depreciation
of his merits, and would not be suppressed. He loved the Hudson's Bay
Company's Post at Yellow Quill with an unwavering love; he ranged the
half-breed hospitality of Red Deer River, regardless of it being thrown
at him as he in turn threw it at his dog; he saluted Sergeant Gellatly
with a familiar How! whenever he saw him; he borrowed tabac of the half-
breed women, and, strange to say, paid it back--with other tabac got by
daily petition, until his prayer was granted, at the H. B. C. Post. He
knew neither shame nor defeat, but where women were concerned he kept his
word, and was singularly humble. It was a woman that induced him to be
baptised. The day after the ceremony he begged "the loan of a dollar for
the love of God" from the missionary; and being refused, straightway, and
for the only time it was known of him, delivered a rumbling torrent of
half-breed profanity, mixed with the unusual oaths of the barracks. Then
he walked away with great humility. There was no swagger about Little
Hammer. He was simply unquenchable and continuous. He sometimes got
drunk; but on such occasions he sat down, or lay down, in the most
convenient place, and, like Caesar beside Pompey's statue, wrapped his
mantle about his face and forgot the world. He was a vagabond Indian,
abandoned yet self-contained, outcast yet gregarious. No social
ostracism unnerved him, no threats of the H. B. C. officials moved him;
and when in the winter of 187_ he was driven from one place to another,
starving and homeless, and came at last emaciated and nearly dead to the
Post at Yellow Quill, he asked for food and shelter as if it were his
right, and not as a mendicant.

One night, shortly after his reception and restoration, he was sitting
in the store silently smoking the Company's tabac. Sergeant Gellatly
entered. Little Hammer rose, offered his hand, and muttered, "How!"