Part 32 (1/2)

”Garneau promised to bring them ofer,” said Mackenzie, ”but you cannot tell anything at all about that man.”

”Well, we must get them in at once. We must not lose another day.

And now let's get to bed. The boy here will sleep in the bunk,”

pointing to a large-sized box which did for a couch. ”Get some blankets for him, Mac.”

The top of the box folded back, revealing a bed inside.

”There, Kalman,” said French, while Mackenzie arranged the blankets, ”will that do?”

”Fine,” said the boy, who could hardly keep his eyes open and who in five minutes after he had tumbled in was sound asleep.

It seemed as if he had been asleep but a few moments when he was wakened by a rude shock. He started up to find Mackenzie fallen drunk and helpless across his bunk.

”Here, you pig!” French was saying in a stern undertone, ”can't you tell when you have had enough? Come out of that!”

With an oath he dragged Mackenzie to his feet.

”Come, get to your bed!”

”Oh, yes, yes,” grumbled Mackenzie, ”and I know well what you will be doing after I am in bed, and never a drop will you be leaving in that bottle.” Mackenzie was on the verge of tears.

”Get on, you beast!” said French in tones of disgusted dignity, pus.h.i.+ng the man before him into the next room.

Kalman was wide awake, but, feigning sleep, watched French as he sat with gloomy face, drinking steadily till even his hard head could stand no more, and he swayed into the inner room and fell heavily on the bed. Kalman waited till French was fast asleep, then rising quietly, pulled off his boots, threw a blanket over him, put out the lamp and went back to the bunk. The spectre of the previous night which had been laid by the events of the day came back to haunt his broken slumber. For hours he tossed, and not till morning began to dawn did he quite lose consciousness.

Broad morning wakened him to unpleasant memories, and more unpleasant realities. French was still sleeping heavily. Mackenzie was eating breakfast, with a bottle beside him on the table.

”You will find a basin on the bench outside,” observed Mackenzie, pointing to the open door.

When Kalman returned from his ablutions, the bottle had vanished, and Mackenzie, with breath redolent of its contents, had ready for him a plate of porridge, to which he added black mola.s.ses. This, with toasted bannock, the remains of the cold duck of the night before, and strong black tea, const.i.tuted his breakfast.

Kalman hurried through his meal, for he hated to meet French as he woke from his sleep.

”Will he not take breakfast?” said the boy as he rose from the table.

”No, not him, nor denner either, like as not. It iss a good thing he has a man to look after the place,” said Mackenzie with the pride of conscious fidelity. ”We will just be going on with the oats and the pitaties. You will be taking the harrows.”

”The what?” said Kalman.

”The harrows.”

Kalman looked blank.

”Can you not harrow?”

”I don't know,” said Kalman. ”What is that?”

”Can you drop pitaties, then?”

”I don't know,” repeated Kalman, shrinking very considerably in his own estimation.