“Because he answers to the description.”

“Howdy!” the Indian exclaimed in a moment.

The boys returned the greeting, and then followed a conversation which was almost entirely expressed by signs.

Oje was invited to proceed with the boys on a fishing trip, and, later, to accept of their hospitality at the cabin.  The Indian gave a grunt of assent, and at once turned toward the river.

As they passed the spot where the cache had been, Sandy glanced curiously toward the Indian, as though wondering whether he had not been the one to dig out the provisions.  The Indian, however, walked on without appearing to notice either the rifled cache or the suspicious glances of the boy.  Arrived at the river, the Indian, after carefully testing the ice, walked to a small island near the shore.

The boys looked on while he began his preparations for fishing.  He went about the work quietly, yet seemed to be remarkably exact in all his motions.  First he cut about twenty feet of fish-line in two in the middle of the piece and tied one end of each part to one end of a stick which he cut from the shore.

The knots he made in the fastening seemed primitive, but it was discovered later that they held very firmly.  After a time he tied a bass hook to each fish-line, and on each hook he speared a little cube of fat pork which he drew from his pocket, and which had evidently done service through a long series of fishing expeditions.

Next he cut two holes in the ice, which was not very thick at that point, and over these the boys were invited to stand, sticks in hand, lines dangling from the poles.

Hardly had Sandy lowered his line which had a bullet flattened around it for a sinker, when he felt it jerk to one side, and almost immediately drew up a three-pound trout.

“Now, what do you think of that for catching fish?” demanded the boy.

Oje gave a satisfied grunt at this evident appreciation of his services, and motioned the lads to continue their sport.

Next Thede caught a gray trout somewhat smaller than the fish landed by Sandy, and then another three-pound speckled trout was landed.

“I guess if some of these fellows with hundred dollar fishing outfits could see us hauling beauties out of the water like this, they’d begin to understand what real fishing means!” Sandy exclaimed.

It was a glorious day for fishing, although a trifle cold.  The sun shone down with a brilliance unequaled in more tropical climates, and there was little wind to send the chill through the clothing.  After the boys had caught plenty of fish they started back toward the cabin.

Oje walked through the wilderness with a different manner from that with which he had accompanied the boys in the journey toward the river.  He glanced sharply about, and frequently stopped to examine trifling marks in the snow.  After a time he pointed to the track of a rabbit which had apparently departed from the faint trail in extreme terror, judging from the speed which had been made.