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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"The Son of the Wolf"

Bettles' bunk had suffered
a similar invasion, and three or four lusty voyageurs worked
their toes among its blankets as they listened to the tale of one
who had served on the boat brigade with Wolseley when he fought
his way to Khartoum.
And when he tired, a cowboy told of courts and kings and lords
and ladies he had seen when Buffalo Bill toured the capitals of
Europe. In a corner two half-breeds, ancient comrades in a lost
campaign, mended harnesses and talked of the days when the
Northwest flamed with insurrection and Louis Riel was king.
Rough jests and rougher jokes went up and down, and great hazards
by trail and river were spoken of in the light of commonplaces,
only to be recalled by virtue of some grain of humor or ludicrous
happening. Prince was led away by these uncrowned heroes who had
seen history made, who regarded the great and the romantic as but
the ordinary and the incidental in the routine of life. He passed
his precious tobacco among them with lavish disregard, and rusty
chains of reminiscence were loosened, and forgotten odysseys
resurrected for his especial benefit.
When conversation dropped and the travelers filled the last pipes
and lashed their tight-rolled sleeping furs.


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