As mentioned, I had pretty well-defined suspicions that Jim was one of the savages who occupied the mysterious canoe, referred to in the preceding chapters. I was not positive of this, although, when I stood by his side and viewed his profile, the resemblance seemed perfect.
One great disappointment had already come. I was sure that I should learn something either of Nat, or of the fair, mysterious captive. When I questioned Jim, he answered with such apparent sincerity and truth, that I was pretty well convinced he knew nothing of either. In regard to the latter he laughed; the former he merely shook his head; he knew nothing of either. Sometimes when I fell into a deep reverie, and suddenly awoke, I could see Jim lift his eyes quickly from me, as though he had been endeavoring to satisfy himself of my identity. He questioned me artfully, and I told him all. At last, I resolved to put the question direct.
“Jim, didn’t you and another warrior, some weeks ago, pass down the river, some distance south, with a white woman?”
There was a perceptible start at this question, but he answered promptly:
“Don’t know nothing ’bout ’em.”
“Why, I was pretty sure that I saw you.”
He shook his head.
There was nothing to be gained by further questioning, and I gave it up. But I was satisfied he knew more of Nat and the sweet captive than he was willing to tell—and I was not mistaken.
Shortly after this conversation, Jim told me that he and several of his tribe were in the employ of the Hudson Bay Fur Company, and traded numerous furs with them every spring. I asked him whether he was not in the territory of the Northwest Fur Company. He replied that that made no difference; each trespassed upon the other’s grounds, and he had been engaged for both.[2]
A few weeks subsequent to this, there came a storm which laid the snow six feet deep, and Jim informed me that, in company with several others, he should proceed to set his traps for the winter’s work, and he willingly consented that I should accompany him. Preparations were accordingly made. Extra garments were donned, a couple of traps taken by each, and, placing our snow-shoes upon our feet, we sallied forth. This was the first time I ever attempted to travel with snow-shoes, and, as may be supposed, I made awkward work of it. These were fully six feet in length, resembling a canoe somewhat in shape, and of extreme lightness. The interior is filled with a gauzy network, which allows the light, sand-like snow to fall through without impeding one’s progress. They are fastened loosely but securely to the feet, and when the snow is not dampened by thaws, twenty miles can be easily made in a day. Without these convenient things, it would be next to impossible to travel during six months of the year in the fur-bearing regions.