“You’re the first intelligent man we’ve had,” Snass complimented Smoke one night by the fire.  “Except old Four Eyes.  The Indians named him so.  He wore glasses and was short-sighted.  He was a professor of zoology.” (Smoke noted the correctness of the pronunciation of the word.) “He died a year ago.  My young men picked him up strayed from an expedition on the upper Porcupine.  He was intelligent, yes; but he was also a fool.  That was his weakness—­straying.  He knew geology, though, and working in metals.  Over on the Luskwa, where there’s coal, we have several creditable hand-forges he made.  He repaired our guns and taught the young men how.  He died last year, and we really missed him.  Strayed—­that’s how it happened—­froze to death within a mile of camp.”

It was on the same night that Snass said to Smoke: 

“You’d better pick out a wife and have a fire of your own.  You will be more comfortable than with those young bucks.  The maidens’ fires—­a sort of feast of the virgins, you know—­are not lighted until full summer and the salmon, but I can give orders earlier if you say the word.”

Smoke laughed and shook his head.

“Remember,” Snass concluded quietly, “Anton is the only one that ever got away.  He was lucky, unusually lucky.”

Her father had a will of iron, Labiskwee told Smoke.

“Four Eyes used to call him the Frozen Pirate—­whatever that means—­the Tyrant of the Frost, the Cave Bear, the Beast Primitive, the King of the Caribou, the Bearded Pard, and lots of such things.  Four Eyes loved words like these.  He taught me most of my English.  He was always making fun.  You could never tell.  He called me his cheetah-chum after times when I was angry.  What is cheetah?  He always teased me with it.”

She chattered on with all the eager naivete of a child, which Smoke found hard to reconcile with the full womanhood of her form and face.

Yes, her father was very firm.  Everybody feared him.  He was terrible when angry.  There were the Porcupines.  It was through them, and through the Luskwas, that Snass traded his skins at the posts and got his supplies of ammunition and tobacco.  He was always fair, but the chief of the Porcupines began to cheat.  And after Snass had warned him twice, he burned his log village, and over a dozen of the Porcupines were killed in the fight.  But there was no more cheating.  Once, when she was a little girl, there was one white man killed while trying to escape.  No, her father did not do it, but he gave the order to the young men.  No Indian ever disobeyed her father.

And the more Smoke learned from her, the more the mystery of Snass deepened.

“And tell me if it is true,” the girl was saying, “that there was a man and a woman whose names were Paolo and Francesca and who greatly loved each other?”

Smoke nodded.