man's home, there were no girls suited to his mind, save only the one
betrothed to Indian Michel! He would have asked, too, if it were not
enough to invade his country, build houses, plant his barley and
potatoes, and lay claim to his moose-deer and bear, his furs and
peltries, but he must needs touch, with profane hands, his home
treasures, and meddle with that which "even an Indian" holds sacred?
It might, perchance, have been better for Michel if he could have
spoken out and unburdened himself of his deep sense of wrong and
injury, which from henceforth lay like a hot iron in his heart. The
Italian proverb says, "It is better to swear than to brood;" and
whether this be true or not, it is certain that having to swallow his
resentment, and endure his agony in silence, embittered Michel's
spirit, and made him the jealous, sensitive, taciturn man he
afterwards became. And among many other consequences of his youth's
tragedy was an unconquerable horror of the white man; not but that,
after a time, he would work for a white man, and trade with him, so
long as he need not look upon him. He would send even his wife (for
Michel took unto him a wife after some years) to Fort Simpson with
his furs to trade, rather than trust himself in the neighbourhood of
the "Tene Manula" (white man). Once, it was said, that Michel had
even so far overcome his repugnance as to pitch his camp in the
neighbourhood of Fort Simpson. He was a husband and a father then,
and there were a number of Indians encamped in the same locality. It
might be hoped that under these circumstances the past would be
forgotten, and that the man would bury his resentment, and extend a
friendly hand to those, not a few, among the white men who wished him
well; but jealousy is the "rage of a man." In the middle of the night
Michel roused his wife and little ones, declaring that the white man
was coming to do them some mischief. Bearing his canoe upon his head
he soon launched it off, and in his mad haste to be away he even left