"Is it clothing for me?"
I handed him a blanket coat for answer. "It is large, but warm," I
said, and bent again to my task.
Still he kept a hand on my shoulder. "Monsieur, I am satisfied with my
dress."
I could be putty in his hands one moment and scorn him the next.
"Nonsense!" I snapped over my shoulder.
But he clung like a gnat. "It is not nonsense. Stop a moment and
listen to my reasons."
I drew myself up reluctantly. "Well?"
He stood with arms akimbo, his head to one side. "It is as plain as a
pikestaff. In this dress I can go where you cannot. I can reconnoitre
for you. In your man's coat I should be grotesque, for it is twice my
size. I should be noticeable and draw comment on us. As it is, I can
go unobserved."
Now this was partly true. "But the presence of a woman would discredit
our canoes," I objected.
He turned this over. "A woman would discredit your party?"
"Of course."
"But no one sees you but the Indians."
"They report to the priests."
"And you care what the priests think?"
"I care for the good name of my company. Monsieur, do you like to wear
a squaw's dress?"
He laughed. "Why not? I like women. Why scorn their garb? But I see
your reasons, monsieur.
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