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When the canoes bearing Oshondonto and his voyageurs shot the rapids to the song of the river,

“En roulant, ma boule roulant,[[y:italic]]
En roulant, ma boule!”[[y:italic]]

with the shrill voices of the boatmen rising to meet the cry of the startled water-fowl, the Athabascas crowded to the high banks. They grunted “How!” in greeting, as the foremost canoe made for the shore.

But if surprise could have changed the countenances of Indians, these Athabascas would not have known one another when the missionary stepped out upon the shore. They had looked to see a gray-bearded man like the chief factor who quarrelled and prayed; but they found instead a round-faced, clean-shaven youth, with big, good-natured eyes, yellow hair, and a roundness of body like that of a month-old bear’s cub. They expected to find a man who, like the factor, could speak their language, and they found a cherub sort of youth who talked only English, French, and Chinook–that common language of the North–and a few words of their own language which he had learned on the way.

Besides, Oshondonto was so absent-minded at the moment, so absorbed in admiration of the garish scene before him, that he addressed the chief in French, of which Knife-in-the-Wind knew but one word, cache, which all the North knows.

But presently William Rufus Holly recovered himself, and in stumbling Chinook made himself understood. Opening a bale, he brought out beads and tobacco and some bright red flannel, and two hundred Indians sat round him and grunted “How!” and received his gifts with little comment. Then the pipe of peace went round, and Oshondonto smoked it becomingly.

But he saw that the Indians despised him for his youth, his fatness, his yellow hair as soft as a girl’s, his cherub face, browned though it was by the sun and weather.

As he handed the pipe to Knife-in-the-Wind, an Indian called Silver Tassel, with a cruel face, said, grimly:

“Why does Oshondonto travel to us?”

William Rufus Holly’s eyes steadied on those of the Indian as he replied in Chinook: “To teach the way to Manitou the Mighty, to tell the Athabascas of the Great Chief who died to save the world.”

“The story is told in many ways; which is right? There was the factor, Word of Thunder. There is the song they sing at Edmonton–I have heard.”

“The Great Chief is the same Chief,” answered the missionary. “If you tell of Fort O’Call, and Knife-in-the-Wind tells of Fort O’Call, he and you will speak different words, and one will put in one thing and one will leave out another; men’s tongues are different. But Fort O’Call is the same, and the Great Chief is the same.”

“It was a long time ago,” said Knife-in-the-Wind, sourly, “many thousand moon, as the pebbles in the river, the years.”

“It is the same world, and it is the same Chief, and it was to save us,” answered William Rufus Holly, smiling, yet with a fluttering heart, for the first test of his life had come.

In anger Knife-in-the-Wind thrust an arrow into the ground and said:

“How can the white man who died thousands of moons ago in a far country save the red man of to-day?”

“A strong man should bear so weak a tale,” broke in Silver Tassel, ruthlessly. “Are we children, that the Great Chief sends a child as messenger?”

For a moment Billy Rufus did not know how to reply, and in the pause Knife-in-the-Wind broke in two pieces the arrow he had thrust in the ground in token of displeasure.

Suddenly, as Oshondonto was about to speak, Silver Tassel sprang to his feet, seized in his arms a lad of twelve who was standing near, and, running to the bank, dropped him into the swift current.

“If Oshondonto be not a child, let him save the lad,” said Silver Tassel, standing on the brink.

Instantly William Rufus Holly was on his feet. His coat was off before Silver Tassel’s words were out of his mouth, and, crying, “In the name of the Great White Chief!” he jumped into the rushing current. “In the name of your Manitou, come on, Silver Tassel!” he called up from the water, and struck out for the lad.