began to tell of the trappers. In their description he referred always
to the map he had drawn on Bolton's imagination as though it had
actually lain spread out before them. Sam referred each name to its
district, as you or I would write it across the section of a chart, and
kept accurately in mind which squares of the invisible map had been thus
assigned and which not. It was an extraordinary effort, but one not
unusual among practised woods runners. This peculiarly minute and
concrete power of recollection is early developed in the wild life.

The Indian finished. Sam remained a moment in contemplation. The
districts were all occupied, and the name of Jingoes did not appear.
That was, however, a small matter. The Ojibway might well have changed
his name, or he might be paying for the privilege of hunting in another
man's territory. A less experienced man would have been strongly
tempted to the more direct question. But Sam knew that the faintest hint
of ulterior motive would not be lost on the Indian's sharp perceptions.
An inquiry, carelessly and indirectly made, might do no harm. But then
again it might. And it was better to lose two years of time in the
search than a single grain of confidence in those with whom the little
party might come in contact.

After all, Sam Bolton was well satisfied. He had, by his simple
diplomacy, gained several valuable results. He had firmly convinced one
man of a common body, wherein news travels quickly, of his apparent
intentions; he had, furthermore, an exact knowledge of where to find
each and every district head-man of the whole Kabinikágam country.
Whether or not the man he sought would prove to be one of these
head-men, or the guest or lessee of one of them, was a question only to
be answered by direct search. At least he knew where to search, which
was a distinct and valuable advantage.