“Aye; th’ fur,” repeated Andy.
“And Jamie,” added David, sadly. “I can’t get he off my mind. I’d rather be dead myself than have he go blind. ’Tis bein’ dead t’ go blind, but worse. ’Tisn’t natural t’ be blind, and folks has t’ die some time.”
“Th’ thought of un makes me feel almost—sick,” said Andy.
They fell silent, and for nearly half an hour neither spoke. Then David remarked, a more cheerful note in his voice:
“I been thinkin’, now, that we may be misjudgin’ Indian Jake. I been thinkin’ that maybe when Indian Jake makes up his mind we perished, he has no heart t’ keep on trappin’ here alone, and he takes th’ furs and starts right out with un t’ give un t’ Pop, and t’ tell Pop what he thinks happened to us.”
“Do you think that, now?” asked Andy hopefully.
“That’s what I thinks,” said David, reluctant to abandon faith in Indian Jake even now.
“’Twill be—a terrible worry for Pop—and all of un,” suggested Andy.
“Aye,” agreed David, “but think how glad they’ll be when we comes home safe; and it won’t be long, now. Week after next we’ll strike up, and th’ break-up’ll come by th’ last of May, whatever, and we’ll start for home.”
“Suppose, now—suppose Indian Jake does as Uncle Ben said he would,” Andy suggested apprehensively. “Suppose he don’t take th’ furs t’ Pop, but goes off with un, th’ way he did before?”