“There’ll be no use getting more ca’tridges and goin’ back,” Eli mused.  “He’s had a warnin’ and he’ll not bide in that camp another day.  He’ll flee the country.”

Then Eli’s thoughts turned to his old father and mother.

“The silver’s gone, and it leaves Pop and Mother in a bad way,” he mused.  “They’ve been fondlin’ that skin half the winter.  Pop’s had un out a hundred times to see how fine and black ’twere, and shook un out to see how thick and deep the fur is.  And they been countin’ and countin’ on the things they’d be gettin’ and needs, and can’t get now she’s gone.  And they been countin’ on the money they’d have to lay by for their feeble days when they needs un.  They’ll never get over mournin’ the loss of un.  ’Twere worth a fortune, and Pop’ll never cotch another.  He were hopin’ and hopin’ every year as long as I remembers to cotch a silver, and none ever comes to his traps till this un comes.  And now she’s gone!”

Perhaps had the silver fox skin been Eli’s own, and perhaps had his father and mother not built so many hopes and laid so many plans upon the little fortune it was to have brought them, Eli would never have ventured to the verge of murder to recover it.  Even now, with all his regrets, he thanked God from the bottom of his heart that he had not killed Indian Jake and stained his hands with blood.

“’Twere the mercy of God sent the bullet abroad,” said he reverently.  “Indian Jake’s a thief and he deserves to be killed, but if I’d killed he I’d never rested an easy hour again while I lives.  But I might o’ clipped his trigger hand, whatever,” he thought with regret.  “I can clip off the head of a pa’tridge every time, and I might have clipped his hand, and got the skin and took he back for Doctor Joe to fix up.”

Three days later Eli pulled his boat wearily into The Jug.  The boys had returned, and with Thomas they met him on the jetty.

“Did you find Injun Jake?” Thomas asked anxiously.

“Aye,” said Eli, “he were there.”

Eli volunteered no further details for a moment.  Then he added: 

“I didn’t kill he, thank the Lord, but he’s got the silver.  He said he had un, and he took my ca’tridges away from me.”

“Said he had un?  Now, that’s strange—­wonderful strange.  Come in, Eli, supper’s ready,” Thomas invited, manifestly relieved that Eli had not succeeded in accomplishing his rash purpose.  “You’ll bide the night with us, and while you eats tell us about un, and the lads’ll tell what were happenin’ to they.”

Margaret was setting the table.  She greeted Eli cordially, and arranged a plate for him while he washed at the basin behind the stove.

“Come,” invited Thomas, “set in.  We’ve got a wonderful treat.”

“What be that, now?” asked Eli as Margaret placed a dish of steaming, mealy boiled potatoes upon the table.

“Potaters,” Thomas announced grandly.  “Doctor Joe brings un on the mail boat from where he’s been, and onions too.  Margaret, peel some onions and set un on for Eli.  They’s fine just as they is without cookin’.”