His practiced fingers told at a touch
whether it was a turtle or a big fish on his night line; and by
the tone of the tom-tom he knew when a rainstorm was at hand.
Being trained in industry, he had made many improvements in their
camp, not the least of which was to clean up and burn all the
rubbish and garbage that attracted hordes of flies. He had
fitted into the camp partly by changing it to fit himself, and he
no longer felt that his stay there was a temporary shift. When
it was to end, he neither knew nor cared. He realized only that
he was enjoying life as he never had done before. His canoe had
passed a lot of rapids and was now in a steady, unbroken stream
-- but it was the swift shoot before the fall. A lull in the
clamour does not mean the end of war, but a new onset preparing;
and, of course, it came in the way least looked for.
Selectman Horton stood well with the community; he was a man of
good judgment, good position, and kind heart. He was owner of
all the woods along the Asamuk, and thus the Indian's landlord on
the Indian's ancestral land. Both Rolf and Quonab had worked for
Horton, and so they knew him well, and liked him for his
goodness.
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