The third morning after the talk with Seguis, the Hudson Bay man opened another conversation between them.
“I've changed my mind, Seguis, about staying here any longer,” he said. “The other day, you promised to fit me out for the trail, if I wanted to go, and I've decided to take advantage of that offer, if it's still open.”
“It is still open,” replied the other. “What has changed your mind so suddenly?”
“Oh, everything!” was the despondent answer. “I can't see much ahead of me, and I might as well hit the trail. I think I'll head for Labrador. I can make it just about when spring breaks, and I'll start over again.”
A light of exultation leaped into Seguis's eyes, but he did not betray his emotion either by voice or gesture.
“As you like,” he said. “When do you wish to leave? I can't give you much food.”
“To-day, if I can. I'm sick of this whole business. I'll take what you'll give me. And I'll say this, that you've treated me white—under the circumstances.”
“Please, don't say anything about it,” rejoined Seguis, quickly.
An hour later, Donald stood ready for his departure, the mask of humility and depression hiding the fear and worry in his heart. He must have one stroke of luck, and it had not come! Well, it wasn't absolutely necessary, but it would help.
Suddenly, out of the woods burst a man on snow-shoes, running at top speed toward the camp. Donald's heart leaped within him. Had he guessed right, after all? Had things happened as he hoped? The man glissaded down the hill, and, without any attempt to check his progress, began to yell at the top of his voice: