Finally Sam looked at the sun. "Four o'clock," he said. "If we don't arrive in half an hour I'll turn back anyway."
"Jus' little way, now," said St. Paul.
"Don't say that again!"
"Ot'er side this muskeg, then piny ridge and little small prairie. It is there."
This time St. Paul proved to be telling the truth. As they issued out on the meadow Sam saw the wagon standing under a tree on the other side. Coming closer he made out a recumbent figure under a willow-bush. The other boy and the other horse were not visible.
It was Musq'oosis. The bush protected him from the sun. With the first glimpse Sam had of his face, remorse attacked him for his suspicions. In truth the old man was far gone. His skin had taken on a waxy, yellow consistency. He looked as serene and unearthly as if he had already passed away. His eyes were closed. Sam spoke his name in alarm.
He opened his eyes and smiled, and feebly moved his hand toward Sam's. "I glad you come," he murmured. "Wait long."
Sam gripped his hand. He forgot all his anger. It seemed shocking to him to find the old man untended in his extremity. He had heard tales of Indian callousness.
"Where's the other boy?" he demanded. "Has he run away?"
Musq'oosis shook his head. "Jack good boy," he said. "I send him look for ot'er horse. I 'fraid horse run home."