Bracknell did not reply for a moment. In that hour the law of the primeval wilds appealed to him strongly, but he knew that it was not the way for him.
“Yes,” he said, “it is the law of the wilds, but not of my race. I carry a law that is the law of man, and he who kills whether for love or hate dies therefor. The thing is impossible!”
Chief Louis grunted disapprobation. “Ze law of ze wild is better. For dat reason I dwell in ze lodges of my mother’s people, where ze strong rule.”
He knocked the ashes from his pipe, and without adding more passed out of the tepee. Roger Bracknell still continued his perambulations, exercising his injured leg, and as he walked his mind was busy with what he felt was to become the problem of his life. He loved Joy Gargrave. He confessed it frankly to himself. He had loved her since that day when in the woods at North Star she had offered him her hand as a token that she counted him among her friends! But what good was it? The whole thing was so hopeless so long as Dick Bracknell lived. And if he died, would the outlook be any the less hopeless? He could not tell, but he was afraid not; for friendship was not love, and Joy Gargrave, as he was sure, was not a woman to give her affection easily.
As he thought despair gripped him, and the tepee’s skin walls seemed too narrow a prison-house. He threw on his fur coat and mittens and went outside. Driven by his thoughts, he left the encampment, and, walking stiffly, moved down the river trail. He had walked perhaps a mile and a half, when out of the woods broke a couple of laden sledges, and two men of the tribe. They were from the hunters, and as they passed they saluted him gravely, according to the manner of their race.
“How! How!”
He responded in kind, and continued to walk on. He had proceeded but a little way however when a thought occurred to him. These men had been away on the main river. They might have news of the outer world. Instantly as the thought came to him, he turned in his tracks and began to return to the encampment. When he reached there the two hunters were not to be seen, but when he entered his own tepee he found Chief Louis sitting by the fire, smoking. There was an impassive look on his face, but in his eyes was a light that could not be hidden, and the white man knew that the chief was excited. The corporal did not remark upon the fact, however, but deliberately filled his pipe, and seating himself, smoked on as if he had noticed nothing. After a little time Louis spoke.
“Ze hunters they hav’ sent meat, mooch meat!”
“Yes,” answered Bracknell. “I met two men of the tribe just now.”
“There is meat for a potlach (feast), but dat is not ze way of my people. We are not as ze wolves which eat all, even ze bones, an’ then run hungry until a new kill is made.”