There was a curious saving of words in this man’s mode of speech. Possibly he had learned this method from his Indian associates.
The traveller nodded.
“Yes.”
“Where to?”
“The sea-coast.”
The half-breed laughed gutturally.
“Forty Mile Creek. Sea-coast. On foot. Alone. Winter. You must be mad.”
The traveller shook his head.
“Not mad. I could have done it, only I lost my way. I had all my stages thought out carefully. I tramped from the sea-coast originally. Where am I now?”
The half-breed eyed the speaker curiously. He seemed to think well before he answered. Then––