In the soft, sweet open-air life the days passed stately in the manner of figures on an ancient tapestry.  Certain things were each morning to be done,—­the dressing of Dick’s cuts and contusions with the healing balsam, the rebandaging and adjusting of the splints and steadying buckskin strap; the necessary cooking and cleaning; the cutting of wood; the fishing below the rapids; the tending of traps; the occasional hunting of larger game; the setting of snares for rabbits.  From certain good skins of the latter May-may-gwan was engaged in weaving a blanket, braiding the long strips after a fashion of her own.  She smoked tanned buckskin, and with it repaired thoroughly both the men’s garments and her own.  These things were to be done, though leisurely, and with slow, ruminative pauses for the dreaming of forest dreams.

But inside the wigwam Dick Herron lay helpless, his hands clenched, his eyes glaring red with an impatience he seemed to hold his breath to repress.  Time was to be passed.  That was all he knew, all he thought about, all he cared.  He seized the minutes grimly and flung them behind him.  So absorbed was he in this, that he seemed to give grudgingly and hastily his attention to anything else.  He never spoke except when absolutely necessary; it almost seemed that he never moved.  Of Sam he appeared utterly unconscious.  The older man performed the little services about him quite unnoticed.  The Indian girl Dick would not suffer near him at all.  Twice he broke silence for what might be called commentatorial speech.

“It’ll be October before we can get started,” he growled one evening.

“Yes,” said Sam.

“You wait till I can get out!” he said on another occasion, in vague threat of determination.

At the beginning of the third week Sam took his seat by the moss and balsam pallet and began to fill his pipe in preparation for a serious talk.

“Dick,” said he, “I’ve made up my mind we’ve wasted enough time here.”

Herron made no reply.

“I’m going to leave you here and go to look over the other hunting districts by myself.”

Still no reply.

“Well?” demanded Sam.

“What about me?” asked Dick.

“The girl will take care of you.”

A long silence ensued.  “She’ll take everything we’ve got and get out,” said Dick at last.

“She will not!  She’d have done it before now.”

“She’ll quit me the first Injuns that come along.”

Sam abandoned the point.

“You needn’t take the risk unless you want to.  If you say so, I’ll wait.”

“Oh, damn the risk,” cried Dick, promptly.  “Go ahead.”

The woodsman smoked.

“Sam,” said the younger man.

“What?”

“I know I’m hard to get along with just now.  Don’t mind me.  It’s hell to lie on your back and be able to do nothing.  I’ve seemed to hinder the game from the first.  Just wait till I’m up again!”