In some, there was no evidence of the
thief; in some, the tracks showed clearly that they were taken by
the same interloper that had bothered them all along, and on a
jagged branch was a short blue yarn.
"Now will I take up his trail and kill him," said the Indian.
Rolf had opposed extreme measures, and again he remonstrated.
To his surprise, the Indian turned fiercely and said: "You know
it is white man. If he was Indian would you be patient? No!"
"There is plenty of country south of the lake; maybe he was here first."
"You know he was not. You should eat many pekan hearts. I have
sought peace, now I fight."
He shouldered his pack, grasped his gun, and his snowshoes went
"tssape, tssape, tssape," over the snow.
Skookum was sitting by Rolf. He rose to resume the march, and
trotted a few steps on Quonab's trail. Rolf did not move; he was
dazed by the sudden and painful situation. Mutiny is always
worse than war. Skookum looked back, trotted on, still Rolf sat
staring. Quonab's figure was lost in the distance; the dog's was
nearly so. Rolf moved not. All the events of the last year were
rushing through his mind; the refuge he had found with the
Indian; the incident of the buck fight and the tender nurse the
red man proved.
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