“Where—How did it get there?”
The trapper shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah—how should I know? But I can guess. And you? Where are your wits, your fancy, my friend?”
David took the skin between his hands, rubbing his fingers through the soft fur.
“You think he brought it back? That he—”
“Is it not possible? He has gone back to his country—his people. He is no longer what you call ‘locked out.’ So he gives back again what he borrowed from Nicholas Bassaraba—the coat. Ah, he is a fairy of honor; and I bring it to you, my friend. It may be that is what the manikin intends when he hangs it on the peg. At any rate, it is yours to keep always; a symbol, a memory of how you found the way to the cabins and the hearts of some lonely men. Yes, this you shall keep; while we keep other memories. It is well.”
He turned toward the door to be gone, but David held him back.
“But it isn’t just memories, you know. I’m coming back again and again to hear more stories of the gipsies. And in the spring, Barney says, perhaps you’ll help me find a den of young foxes or raccoons. I’ve always wanted to have some to tame.”
The trapper smiled.
“Even so. We will go together. It is not hard to find the litters of young things in the spring; they are very plentiful.”