The Last Spike - And Other Railroad Stories by Cy Warman
page 44 of 174 (25%)
page 44 of 174 (25%)
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sorely tempted. Dimly, through the parchment pane, he could see great
stacks of English tweeds, piles of tobacco, and boxes of tea, but the tent was closed. He was sorely tried. He was hungry--hungry for a horn of tea and a twist of the weed, and cold, too. Ah, _bon père_, it is hard to withstand cold and hunger with only a canvas between one and the comforts of life!" "_Oui, Monsieur!_" said the curé, warmly, touched by the pathos of the tale. "The Indian walked away (we know that by his footprints), but returned to the tent. The hunger and the cold had conquered. He took his hunting-knife and slit the deerskin window and stepped inside. Then he approached the pile of tweed trousers and selected a large pair, putting down from the bunch of furs he had on his arms to the value of eight skins--the price his father and grandfather had paid. He visited the tobacco pile and helped himself, leaving four skins on the tobacco. When he had taken tea he had all his heart desired, and having still a number of skins left, he hung them upon a hook overhead and went away. "When summer dawned and a clerk came to open the post, he saw the slit in the window, and upon entering the tent saw the eight skins on the stack of tweeds, the four skins on the tobacco, and the others on the chest, and understood. "Presently he saw the skins which the Indian had hung upon the hook, took them down, counted them carefully, appraised them, and made an entry in the Receiving Book, in which he credited 'Indian-cut-the-window, 37 skins.' |
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