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