He signed to us to go into our room in the shanty, and I felt puzzled at his quiet calm way of speaking now, just as if there had been nothing the matter that morning. But it was not so with Esau. The shock and its accompanying fright had had a peculiar effect upon his temper.
As we entered the room there was the bright fire with the boiling water; and the landlady had been busy for us, and broiled some bacon, the smell of which was very welcome at that time in the morning; but as Esau was about to take his place he looked sharply round.
“Where’s my box?” he said. And as he spoke I saw that mine and the others were gone.
“In the canoe,” said Gunson, quietly.
“What’s it in the canoe for?” cried Esau. “Those Indian chaps will run away with it.”
“If they do,” said Gunson, who was busy making the tea, “they’ll take your companion’s and mine too.”
“What’s the good o’ that to me?” cried Esau angrily. “That won’t bring mine back. Here, I want my box.”
“Sit down, and don’t be stupid, my lad. You’ve given us quite enough trouble this morning.”
“But I want my box,” cried Esau. “There’s lots o’ things in that I wouldn’t lose on no account.”
He moved toward the door, but Gunson set down the kettle and stepped before him.