“They brought th’ fur down to th’ Narrows tilt when I told ’em to. Th’ little feller wanted me t’ bring mine in too, but I wa’n’t goin’ t’ let ’em know what I had. He kinder suspicioned me, or somethin’. The way it turned out their fur was safe enough. I’d have got th’ fur anyhow when I went up t’ look for ’em.
“If I’d known where their traps were set I could ha’ gone over ’em. They might have some fur in ’em. I could ’a’ struck ’em up and took care of ’em, too, like I did on my trail. ’Twouldn’t have hurt me any to do that much for Tom Angus. He let me hunt his trail. But he’ll find ’em when he comes in next fall.”
After a little silence he mused:
“I wonder how Tom Angus is goin’ t’ take it when they don’t show up.”
Indian Jake’s pipe had gone out. He pushed the ashes down in the bowl, relit it, renewed the fire in the stove, and rising looked out between the tent flaps at the falling snow. Returning to his seat he remarked:
“Likely t’ be a nasty day tomorrow, and I may as well stay here. No use travelin’ in nasty weather. They’s plenty o’ time. Guess I’ll take it easy. Nobody to worry about me, and I’m just as much t’ home here as anywhere. I got grub enough. I may meet up with some o’ th’ Injuns, and I can travel with them.
“Home!” said he, after a silence. “Th’ lads were thinkin’ a big lot about th’ time when they’d go home. Now they’ll never go there. Home’s th’ finest place in th’ world t’ be when a feller has one. Huh! What’s th’ use thinkin’ about that. I’ll be gettin’ homesick for a home I ain’t got. This tent’s a good enough home. It’s got t’ suit me, anyhow. It’s all right.”
The next day it stormed, as Indian Jake had predicted, and he did not leave his camp, but the morning following was clear, and he again set forward.
At midday the half-breed halted to boil the kettle, and making his way toward the river to obtain water, he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air. The wind was blowing up from the opposite side of the river.
“Smoke!” he exclaimed. “They’s some one camped across the river!”