A man clad in a white adikey and white moleskin trousers emerged from
one of the buildings, paused for a moment to gaze at Bob and his
companions as they approached, and then reentered the building.
As they descended the hill the Indians turned to an isolated cabin
which stood somewhat apart from the main group of buildings and to the
eastward of them, but Bob ran down to the one into which the man had
disappeared. His heart was all aflutter with excitement and
expectancy. As he approached the door, it suddenly opened, and there
appeared before him a tall, middle-aged man with full, sandy beard and
a kindly face. Bob felt intuitively that this was the factor of the
Post, and he said very respectfully,
"Good day, sir."
"Good day, good day," said the man. "I thought at first you were an
Indian. Come in."
Bob entered and found himself in the trader's office. At one side were
two tables that served as desks, and on a shelf against the wall
behind them rested a row of musty ledgers and account books. Benches
in lieu of chairs surrounded a large stove in the centre.
"Take off your skin coat and sit down," invited the trader, who was,
indeed, Mr. MacPherson of whom the Indians had told.
"Thank you, sir," said Bob.
When he was finally seated Mr.
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