Prince fell back
upon his comrade for further information.
'Well, you know what the cowboy is,' Malemute Kid answered,
beginning to unlace his moccasins; 'and it's not hard to guess
the British blood in his bed partner. As for the rest, they're
all children of the coureurs du bois, mingled with God knows how
many other bloods. The two turning in by the door are the
regulation 'breeds' or Boisbrules. That lad with the worsted
breech scarf--notice his eyebrows and the turn of his jaw--shows
a Scotchman wept in his mother's smoky tepee. And that handsome
looking fellow putting the capote under his head is a French
half-breed--you heard him talking; he doesn't like the two
Indians turning in next to him. You see, when the 'breeds' rose
under the Riel the full-bloods kept the peace, and they've not
lost much love for one another since.' 'But I say, what's that
glum-looking fellow by the stove? I'll swear he can't talk
English. He hasn't opened his mouth all night.' 'You're wrong. He
knows English well enough. Did you follow his eyes when he
listened? I did. But he's neither kith nor kin to the others.
When they talked their own patois you could see he didn't
understand.
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