FOR THE SEAL RIVER BELT
could only dally with Father Time for two or three days the relief expedition would probably find us. The chief, who, despite his good Scotch name, looked fully Injun, calmly produced a disquieting hunting-knife, and said if we didn't tell inside of a fraction of a minute our chances for entering into any treasures we might have accumulated in the missionary's heaven were very good.
"‘After we are dead,' reminded Tib, softly, 'you'll never know.'
"This struck the half-breed as being closely related to exact truth, and he reluctantly put up his toy and ordered some of his babies to tote us into a hut. As we were shouldered along Tib stopped short and cried: 'Hark! Hear that, Billy? It's a child crying, and a white child, or I never managed a circus.'
"Mr. Chuck growled something naughty and slapped the old chap's face, whereat Tib displayed seven different angry colors, and we were hustled away from the neighborhood of the plaintive wailing. 'The missionary's kid,' I reminded, in a whisper.
"That night our ruddy host visited us again and tried to wrench the secret of the lost lode from our unwilling bosoms. 'If you don't tell, I am to whip you each day with these,' he said, thrusting forward two cast-iron palms, each as large as a seal's flipper.
63
