"Uncle Jim, I didn't like the looks of those Indians at all," said Henry, after the red men were out of sight.
"Oh, they didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary," answered James Morris. "They've got a pretty big bundle of skins with 'em."
"Perhaps they stole the skins. To me they looked like Indians who couldn't be trusted."
"I'll question them closely when they come in again, Henry. I certainly want no stolen skins, in trade or otherwise."
"Did you ever see those redskins before?"
"I believe I saw one of them last year, but where I can't remember. They were about as dirty as any around here," added the trader. "I wouldn't let them sleep here even if I knew it to be safe. I'd have the place alive with vermin."
"It's queer how some of them hate a bath, especially in cold weather," said the youth, with a laugh. "Perhaps they think the dirt helps to keep 'em warm."
The night was cold and clear. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly, so it was not as dark as it might otherwise have been. Only a faint breeze was blowing, not sufficient to move the stark tree branches of the great wilderness which surrounded the lonely post.
Ever since the last uprising of the Indians, Mr. Morris had made it a point to have somebody on guard during the night. All the trappers who remained at the post knew that such duty was expected of them, and that they were doing it as much for their own protection as for the good of others. Guard duty began at six in the evening and ended at six in the morning, and the twelve hours were divided equally among whoever happened to be at the post during that period of time.
Tony Jadwin was the first to do guard duty that evening, and it was arranged that Henry should be the one to relieve him. But though free from duty, Henry was not disposed to lie down, and he wandered around, from the stable to the general living room.