"La Violette Dandine." They had good voices, these _voyageurs_, with
the French artistic instinct, and it was fine to hear them.

At noon the squaws set out to gather canoe gum on the mainland. They
sat huddled in the bottom of their old and leaky canoe, reaching far
over the sides to dip their paddles, irregularly placed, silent,
mysterious. They did not paddle with the unison of the men, but each
jabbed a little short stroke as the time suited her, so that always
some paddles were rising and some falling. Into the distance thus they
flapped like wounded birds; then rounded a bend, and were gone.

The sun swung over and down the slope. Dinner time had passed; "smoke
time" had come again. Squaws brought the first white-fish of the
season to the kitchen door of the factory, and Matthews raised the
hand of horror at the price they asked. Finally he bought six of about
three pounds each, giving in exchange tea to the approximate value of
twelve cents. The Indian women went away, secretly pleased over their
bargain.

Down by the Indian camp suddenly broke the roar of a dog-fight. Two of
the sledge _giddés_ had come to teeth, and the friends of both were
assisting the cause. The idlers went to see, laughing, shouting,
running impromptu races. They sat on their haunches and cheered
ironically, and made small bets, and encouraged the frantic old squaw
hags who, at imminent risk, were trying to disintegrate the snarling,
rolling mass. Over in the high log stockade wherein the Company's
sledge animals were confined, other wolf-dogs howled mournfully,
desolated at missing the fun.

And always the sun swung lower and lower toward the west, until