By this time Ambrose had become somewhat habituated to his captivity.  At any rate, he was more philosophical.  He had been treated well enough.

There was a village at the end of the trail.  Hearing the astonishing news of what had happened, the people stared at Ambrose with their hard, bright eyes as at a phenomenon.

Ambrose figured that they had left Fort Enterprise a hundred and fifty miles behind.  He looked at the river with interest.  He had heard that no white man had ever descended it.

He saw a smoothly flowing brown flood some two hundred yards wide winding away between verdant willows.  A smaller stream joined it at this point, and the teepees stretched along either bank.

Across the larger stream loomed a bold hill-point with a striking clump of pines upon it, and under the trees the gables of an Indian burying-ground like a village of toy houses.

The flat where the rivers joined was hemmed all around by low hills.  On the right, half-way up the rise, a log shack dominated the village—­and to it Ambrose’s captors led him.

This was evidently intended to be his prison.  Window and door were closely boarded up.  The Indians tore the boards from the doorway and, casting off Ambrose’s bonds, thrust him inside.  They closed the door, leaving him in utter darkness.  He heard them contriving a bar to keep him in.

Ambrose, after waving his arms about to restore the circulation, set to exploring his quarters by sense of touch.  First he collided with a counter running across from side to side.

Behind, in the middle of the room, he found an iron cook-stove; against the right hand wall were tiers of empty shelves; at the back a bedstead filled with moldy hay; on the left side an empty chest, a table, and a chair.

Thus it was a combination of store and dwelling; no doubt it had been built for Gordon Strange’s use when he came to trade with the Kakisas.

The window was over the table.  Ambrose found it nailed down, besides being boarded up outside.  He had no intention of submitting to the deprivation of light and air.

He picked up the chair and swinging it delivered a series of blows that shattered the glass, cracked the frame, and finally drove out the boards.  He found himself looking into the impassive faces of his jailers.

They did not even seem surprised, and made no demonstration against him.  Ambrose whistled.  Job came running and scrambled over the window-sill into his master’s arms.

Later one of the Indians came with strips of moose hide which he pinned across outside the window.  From each strip dangled a row of bells, such as are fastened to dog-harness.  It was cunningly contrived—­Ambrose could not touch one of the strips ever so gently without giving an alarm.

Thereafter, as long as it was light, he could see them loafing and sleeping in the grass outside with their guns beside them.  After dark their pipe-bowls glowed.