Sol and Jim were really men of strong intellect, and they had plenty of patience.  Paul was surprised at their progress.  They were soon thinking for themselves, and when Paul himself did not want to play, the two would fight it out over the deerskin.

“It’s a slow game, but good,” said Shif’less Sol.  “It ’pears to me that a man to be at the head o’ ’em all in this would hev to do nothin’ else all his life.”

“That is so,” said Paul.

“Jim, thar ain’t no earthly chance for you,” said Shif’less Sol.

“I guess I’ve got you this time, anyhow,” said Jim, with a deep chuckle of satisfaction.  “Jest look at that thar board, Sol Hyde.  Ef you ain’t druv into a corner so you can’t move this way nor that, then you can hev the huntin’ shirt right off my back.”

Shif’less Sol examined the deerskin square attentively.

“Blamed ef it ain’t so,” he said in a tone of deep disgust.  “It wuz an accident, nuthin’ but an accident, or else I’ve been talkin’ too much.”

“That’s what you’re always doin’, Sol Hyde—­talkin’ too much.”

“Then we’ll jest try it over ag’in, an’ I’ll show you what it is to play ag’inst a real smart man.”

They were deep in a fresh game a few moments later, and Paul went outside.  He was glad to see them so interested, because he knew that otherwise the curse of dullness might fall upon them.

The air was raw and chill, and, although the snow and ice were gone, the lake and the hills beyond looked singularly cold.  But Paul was neither uncomfortable nor unhappy.  He was clothed warmly, and he had food in abundance and variety.  Trusty comrades, too, surrounded him.  Life at present seemed very pleasant.

He strolled up the island toward the trees that contained the Indian bodies, and after a while returned toward the home in the hollow.  A warm, mellow light gleamed from its rude window, and Paul’s heart throbbed with something of the feeling that one has only toward “home.”

He opened the door and entered, just in time to hear Shif’less Sol’s cry of triumph: 

“Thar, Jim Hart, ef that don’t settle you, I’d like to know what will!  Now, who’s doin’ too much talkin’?”

“I can’t see jest how it happened,” said Jim Hart ruefully.

“No, an’ you never will.  Them things are too deep fur you.  It’s only eddicated men, like me an’ Paul, that kin see to the bottom o’ ’em.”

“You’re even, as it’s game and game,” said Paul, “so let’s rest now.  Henry and Tom ought to be coming pretty soon.”

“An’ they’ll be ez hungry ez a hull pack uv wolves,” said Jim Hart, “so I guess I’d better be cookin’.  Here, Sol, give me them strips uv deer meat an’ buffalo.”

“I shorely will,” said Shif’less Sol.  “Thar is one thing, ef it is only one, that you kin do well, Jim Hart, an’ it’s cook.”

The two, in the most friendly fashion, went about preparing the supper.  They had many kinds of game to choose from, and once Ross had brought a bag of ground corn, perhaps taken by stealth from an Indian village, and now and then Jim made from it a kind of bread.  He was to bake some to-night, in honor of the returning two, and soon the place was filled with pleasant odors.