he had ascribed to a sudden burst of anger, and it was forgiven and forgotten.  The selfish enmity, the blackness of heart, the sinister nature that will never overlook and will go to any length to avenge a real or fancied wrong—­the characteristics of a half-breed Indian—­were wholly beyond his comprehension.  He had never dissembled himself, and he did not know that the smiling face and smooth tongue are often screens of deception.

“We’ll be havin’ supper now,” suggested Bob, lifting the boiling kettle off the stove and throwing in some tea.  “I’m fair starved.”

After they had eaten Micmac filled his pipe and lounged back, smoking in silence for some time, apparently deep in thought.  Finally he asked, “When ye goin’ back t’ th’ river, Bob?”

“I’m not thinkin t’ start back till Wednesday an’ maybe Thursday, an’ reach un Monday or Tuesday after.  Bill won’t be gettin’ there till Tuesday, an’ Dick an’ Ed expects t’ be there then t’ spend Christmas an’ hunt deer.”

“Hunt deer?”

“They’re needin’ fresh meat, an’ deer footin’s good in th’ meshes.”

“The’s fine signs to th’ nuth’ard from th’ second lake in, ’bout twenty mile from here.  You could get some there.  If ye ain’t goin’ back till Wednesday why don’t ye try ’em?  Ye’d get as many as ye wanted,” volunteered Micmac.

“Where now be that?”

“Why just ‘cross th’ first mesh up here, an’ through th’ bush straight over ye’ll come to a lake.  Cross that t’ where a dead tree hangs out over th’ ice.  Cut in there an’ ye’ll see my footin’; foller it over t’ th’ next lake, then turn right t’ th’ nuth’ard.  The’s some meshes in there where th’ deer’s feedin’.  I seen fifteen or twenty, but I didn’t want ’em so I let ’em be.”

“An’ could I make un now in a day?”

“If ye walk sharp an’ start early.”

“I thinks I’ll be startin’ in th’ mornin’ an’ campin’ over there Sunday, an’ Monday I’ll be there t’ hunt.  Can’t un come ’long, John?”

“No, I’d like t’ go but I got t’ see my traps.  I’ll have t’ be leavin’ ye now,” said Micmac, rising.

“Not t’-night?”

“Yes, it’s fine moonlight an’ I can make it all right.”

“Ye better stay th’ night wi’ me, John.  There’ll be no difference in a day.”

“No.  I planned t’ be goin’ right back I seen ye.  Good evenin’.”

“Good evenin’, John.”

Micmac John started directly south, but when well out of sight of the tilt suddenly swung around to the eastward and, with the long half-running stride of the Indian, made a straight line for the tilt where Bob had left his silver fox.  The moon was full, and the frost that clung to the trees and bushes sparkled like flakes of silver.  The aurora faintly searched the northern sky.  A rabbit, white and spectre-like, scurried across the half-breed’s path, but he did not notice it.  Hour after hour his never tiring feet swung the wide snow-shoes in and out with a rhythmic chug-chug as he ran on.