“I take the boat and go fishing. I say, 'Moses, that lazy Chippewa, leave the boat for me to bring home; I make him wait for it.'”
“Did you quarrel at all?”
“Maybe so,” said Frank. “Whiskey not let you remember much. But I could kill Moses easier than he could kill me.”
“He has suffered enough. But you, my son, ought to do heavy penance.”
“Not put off wedding?” suggested Frank, uneasily.
“I had not thought of unusual methods; it might be good discipline for Catharine, too. But we have lost enough cheer on your account.”
“I never spend my money for whiskey any more, father. If some man ask me to take a drink, I drink with him, but not get drunk—no.”
Moses laughed, his face shortening in horizontal lines.
“That Frank Chibam. Frank make me pay for all the whiskey. He not drowned. I not kill him. His spirit only an evil dream.”
“The evil dream is now past, Moses,” said the priest.