not a business man, he became crestfallen, but presently revived enough
to exclaim:

"Well, what the dickens are you?"

"An artist," I replied.

"Oh, I see! Well . . . we need an artist very badly. You'll have the
field all to yourself in Spearhead. Besides, your pictures of the fur
trade and of pioneer life would eventually become historical and bring
you no end of wealth. You had better come. Better decide right away,
or some other artist chap will get ahead of you."

But when I further explained that I was going to spend the winter in
the wilderness, that I had already written to the Hudson's Bay Factor
at Fort Consolation and that he was expecting me, Spear gloated:

"Bully boy!" and slapping me on the shoulder, he chuckled: "Why, my
town is just across the lake from Fort Consolation. A mere five-mile
paddle, old chap, and remember, I extend to you the freedom of
Spearhead in the name of its future mayor. And, man alive, I'm leaving
for there to-morrow morning in a big four-fathom birch bark, with four
Indian canoe-men. Be my guest. It won't cost you a farthing, and
we'll make the trip together."

I gladly accepted. The next morning we started. Free Trader Spear was
a character, and I afterward learned that he was an Oxford University
man, who, having been "ploughed," left for Canada, entered the service
of the Hudson's Bay Company, and had finally been moved to Fort
Consolation where he served seven years, learned the fur-trade