hunter was known from the Elkwan barrens to Rupert House, was no sailor to be treated like a dog.
Squaring his wide shoulders, he flung the thick hair from his eyes with a toss of the head and said defiantly:
"My fader was French; my moder Cree. But I tell you somet'ing: eef de win' rise from de nord or eas', dees boat land on de beach lak dat," and leaning forward, Laroque snapped his fingers in the captain's face.
Choking with rage, the officer stood for a moment inarticulate. Then shaking a fist wildly, he loosed a torrent of unintelligible words at the half-breed, who watched him coolly through narrowed eyelids.
"Answer my questions promptly," the big sailor finally managed to sputter in English, "or I'll have you" Then regaining his self-control, he continued in calmer tone:
"You say you are bound for Fort Albany?"
The Cree nodded.
"How far do you think we are off the mouth of the river?"
"You are ver' close; onlee t'ree, four mile'. Dees ees bad place for beeg boat, ver' bad."
The reply had a decided effect on the officers, who conversed for some time in low tones; then the captain turned to Laroque.
"You know the Albany River—the channel up to the fort?"
The secret was out: this was not a company ship. These people were strangers to James Bay or they
