Micmac John retraced his steps some eight miles to the wide stretch of timber land.  There he halted and pitched camp.  The wind shrieked through the tree tops and swept the marshes in its untamed fury, but he was quite warm and contented in the tent.  The storm was working his revenge for him, and he was quite satisfied that it would do the work well.

The men that Bob Gray had come in contact with and associated with all his life were the honest, upright people of the Bay.  He had never known a man that would dishonestly take a farthing’s worth of another’s property or that would knowingly harm a fellow being.  The Bay folk were constantly helping their more needy neighbours and lived almost as intimately as brothers.  When any one was in trouble the others came to offer sympathy and frequently deprived themselves of the actual necessaries of life that their neighbours might not suffer.  Sometimes they had their misunderstandings and quarrels, but these were all of a momentary character and quickly forgotten.

There was little wonder then that Bob had failed to read Micmac John’s true character, and it could hardly be expected that he would suspect the half-breed of trying to injure him.  Children of these far-off, thinly populated lands in many respects develop judgment and mature in thought at a much younger age than in more thickly settled and more favoured countries.  One reason for this is the constant fight for existence that is being waged and the necessity for them to take up their share of the burden of life early.  Another reason is doubtless the fact that their isolated homes cut them off from the companionship of children of their own age and their associates are almost wholly men and women grown.  This was the case with Bob and in courage, thoughtfulness of the comfort of others and physical endurance he was a man, while in guile he was a mere baby.  He believed that Micmac John was like every other man he knew and was a good neighbour.

When men have lived long in the wilderness without fresh meat they have a tremendous longing for it.  Bob knew that neither Dick nor Ed had tasted venison since they reached their hunting grounds, for they had not been as fortunate as he, and that some of the fresh-killed meat would be a great treat to them and one they would appreciate.  Therefore when Micmac John told him how easily caribou could be killed a day’s journey to the northward, he thought that it would make a nice Christmas surprise for his friends if he hauled a toboggan load of venison down to the river tilt with him.  True they had planned a hunt, but that would take place after Christmas and he wanted to make them happy on that day.

So after Micmac John left him on Friday night he prepared for an early start to the caribou feeding grounds on Saturday morning.

We have seen the route he took across the lakes and timbered flats and marshes to the place where he pitched his camp in the little clump of diminutive fir trees almost twenty miles from his tilt.  It was evening when he reached there and up to this time, to his astonishment, he had seen no signs of caribou.  A few miles beyond the marsh he saw a ridge of low hills running east and west and decided that the feeding grounds of the animals must lie the other side of them.