"We see heap more," Lucky shook his head.
"I suppose so," Jack agreed.
"Injun do wrong let boy go."
"None of that stuff now," Bob said quickly. "I'd have been all right if I hadn't been clumsy enough to lose my gun and that wasn't your fault."
"But Injun—"
"Forget it," and Lucky never mentioned the subject again.
All that night and all the following day it snowed and blew. How the wind did blow outside, but beneath the overhang of the cliff where they had pitched the tepee it was comparatively still and thanks to the thick circle of trees, only a small amount of snow found its way to them. At one side, but beneath the overhang, Lucky had constructed a rough shelter for the dogs and they were, as Jack had said, "well stabled."
Long before both Jack and Bob had made warm friends with the members of the team and although it would be extremely dangerous for a stranger to touch any of them, they found they could do anything with them. In fact, as Lucky declared, "Them dog adopt you white boys ver' queek."
It had been the Indian's intention to start out on a reconnoitering expedition himself the morning following Bob's adventure, but so fierce was the storm that he knew it would be folly to attempt it. Bob passed a good night and in the morning insisted that he was all right and wanted to get up, but Lucky would not hear of it.
"Mebby you geet up tomorrow, mebby not. No geet up today an' that flat, oui."