At last the time arrived when it became necessary that the trappers should return to Pine Point settlement. In the midst of all their alarms and fights they had found time to do, what Big Waller termed, a “pretty considerable stroke o’ business.” That is to say, they had killed a large number of fur-bearing animals by means of trap, snare, and gun, so that they were in a position to return home with a heavy load of valuable skins. The day of their departure was therefore arranged, and March, mounting his steed, galloped, for the last time, and with a heavy heart, towards the cave of his friend Dick.
As he passed rapidly over the wild country, and entered the gloomy recesses that surrounded the Wild Man’s home, he thought over the arguments and persuasive speeches with which he meant to make a last and, he still hoped, successful appeal. But March might have spared himself the trouble of all this thought, for when he reached the cave Dick was absent. This grieved, him deeply, because every preparation had been made by his companions for starting on their homeward journey that evening, so that he had no time to spare.
Mary, was at home, however, so March felt a little consoled, and, seating himself in his wonted place beside the fire, he said—
“When will Dick be home, Mary?”
“Me no can know ’xactly. To-morray hims say, perhaps.”
“Then it’s all up,” sighed March, leaning recklessly back against the wall; “all up! I’m off to-night, so I’ll not be able to spend the winter with you after all.”
Had Mary burst into tears on hearing this, March would have felt satisfied. Had she groaned or sobbed, or even sighed, he would have experienced some degree of relief to his annoyed and disappointed spirit, but when Mary, instead of any such demonstration, hung down her head so that the heavy masses of her soft brown hair hid her pretty face and said in a tone which March fancied was not very genuine, “What a pity!” he became extremely exasperated, and deemed himself ill-used.
During the half-hour that succeeded he endeavoured to converse in a pleasant tone of voice, but without success. At last he rose to go.
“Must you go ’way dis night?” said Mary with a look of concern.
“Ay, Mary, an’ it’s not much matter, for ye don’t seem to care.”