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