the North. But Pretty Pierre was at Fort Luke when the battle occurred,
and, before and after, he sifted the business thoroughly. For he had a
philosophical turn, and this may be said of him, that he never lied
except to save another from danger. In this matter he was cool and
impartial from first to last, and evil as his reputation was in many ways
there were those who believed and trusted him. Himself, as he travelled
here and there through the North, had heard of the Tall Master. Yet he
had never met anyone who had seen him; for the Master had dwelt, it was
said, chiefly among the strange tribes of the Far-Off Metal River whose
faces were almost white, and who held themselves aloof from the southern
races. The tales lost nothing by being retold, even when the historians
were the men of the H. B. C.;---Pierre knew what accomplished liars may
be found among that Company of Adventurers trading in Hudson's Bay, and
how their art had been none too delicately engrafted by his own people.
But he was, as became him, open to conviction, especially when,
journeying to Fort Luke, he heard what John Hybar, the Chief Factor--
a man of uncommon quality--had to say. Hybar had once lived long among
those Indians of the Bright Stone, and had seen many rare things among
them. He knew their legends of the White Valley and the Hills of the
Mighty Men, and how their distinctive character had imposed itself on the
whole Indian race of the North, so that there was none but believed, even
though vaguely, in a pleasant land not south but Arcticwards; and Pierre
himself, with Shon McGann and Just Trafford, had once had a strange
experience in the Kimash Hills. He did not share the opinion of Lazenby,
the Company's clerk at Fort Luke, who said, when the matter was talked of
before him, that it was all hanky-panky,--which was evidence that he had
lived in London town, before his anxious relatives, sending him forth
under the delusive flag of adventure and wild life, imprisoned him in the
Arctic regions with the H. B. C.