They put the sick man in his bunk, then Rolf set about preparing
a meal, while Quonab cut wood.
After the usual tea, bacon, and flour cakes, all were feeling
refreshed. Hoag seemed much more like himself. He talked freely,
almost cheerfully, while Quonab, with Skookum at his feet, sat
silently smoking and staring into the fire.
After a long silence, the Indian turned, looked straight at the
trapper, and, pointing with his pipestem to the furs, said, "How
many is ours?"
Hoag looked scared, then sulky, and said; "I dunno what ye mean.
I'm a awful sick man. You get me out to Lyons Falls all right,
and ye can have the hull lot," and he wept.
Rolf shook his head at Quonab, then turned to the sufferer and
said: "Don't you worry; we'll get you out all right. Have you a
good canoe?"
"Pretty fair; needs a little fixing."
The night passed with one or two breaks, when the invalid asked
for a drink of water. In the morning he was evidently
recovering, and they began to plan for the future.
He took the first chance of wispering to Rolf, "Can't you send
him away? I'll be all right with you." Rolf said nothing.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252