“Not so good,” he said. “Worth four hundred, though, at the Post. Even if I hadn’t got these two silvers, it’s the best hunt I ever had. Worth with the silvers about fifteen hundred. And Tom Angus thinks he’ll get a third of it! Ugh!”
The balance of the day was occupied in getting together the things he wished to take with him. The venison had long since been eaten. There was some whitefish, taken upon a second fishing excursion, four rabbits and several partridges. A small amount of flour, salt pork and tea also remained. These he carefully packed. On Sunday morning Indian Jake lashed upon his toboggan all of the provisions, a cotton tent, a tent stove, his sleeping bag and other equipment, and all the furs.
Snow was falling when the half-breed closed the tilt door, and, hauling his well-laden toboggan, turned southward. Presently the thick falling flakes closed upon him, and covered his tracks, and no sign or mark remained to indicate in which direction he had gone. The Narrows tilt and the fur trails were now deserted indeed.
XX
A LETTER FROM THE GREAT DOCTOR
The Jug was lonely enough after the departure of David and Andy in September. Margaret and Jamie missed them, perhaps, more than Thomas, who was accustomed to the solitude of the trails. Margaret was quite sure the place would have been well-nigh unbearable but for Doctor Joe, who went about his work whistling or singing snatches of song, and who always had a smile or a joke when he breezed into the cabin. And his evening stories were something to look forward to.
Doctor Joe was bustling about from morning until night, these days, preparing for his winter’s work. There was no end of work to be done about the cabin, that all might be made “ship-shape,” as he said, “and snug for any storm that might blow.”
Thomas was as patient as ever a man with a broken leg could be. But it was quite natural that he should wish to be up and about. A hundred times during these weeks he asked Doctor Joe if it were not time to take the “lashin’s” off his leg, and declared that he was “weary of dawdlin’ there in bed.” His restlessness was not to be wondered at, for never before in all his life had Thomas Angus “dawdled” in bed for a single day. Thomas Angus had always been an uncommonly strong and healthy man, for which he was duly thankful.
Never once after David and Andy departed did Jamie utter a word of complaint about the mist in his eyes. They had gone forth to do great deeds. They would meet, up there in that lonely land of mystery, many a bitter hardship, and they would have “plenty o’ grit, and keep their hearts stout, like a man’s,” for they had promised their father and Jamie they would. Why, then, should he complain? He, too, must keep plenty o’ grit, and a stout heart, and be brave and patient.