ttitudes of repose.
All were smoking heavily. On the top of the stove stood a tin billy full
to the brim of steaming coffee, the scent of which, blending with the
reek of strong tobacco, came soothingly to their nostrils.

Victor Gagnon was lying full length upon a pile of outspread blankets.
His face was turned towards the stove, and his head was supported upon
one hand. He looked none the worse for his adventure in the storm. He
was a small, dark man of the superior French half-breed class. He had a
narrow, ferret face which was quite good looking in a mean small way. He
was clean shaven, and wore his straight black hair rather long. His
clothes, now he had discarded his furs, showed to be of orthodox type,
and quite unlike those of his hosts. He was a trader who kept a store
away to the northeast of the dugout. He worked in connection with one of
the big fur companies of the East, as an agent for the wholesale house
dealing directly with trappers and Indians.

This was the man with whom the Westleys traded, and they were truly glad
that chance had put it in their power to befriend him. Their
associations with him, although chiefly of a business nature, were
decidedly friendly.

Now they were listening to his slow, quiet, thoughtful talk. He was a
man who liked talking, but he always contrived that his audience should
be those who gave information. These two backwoodsmen, simple as the
virgin forests to which they belonged, were not keen enough to observe
this. Victor Gagnon understood such men well. His life had been made up
of dealings with the mountain world and those who peopled it.

Nick, large and picturesque, sat tailor-fashion on his blankets, facing
the glowing stove with the unblinking, thoughtful stare of a large dog.
Ralph was less luxurious. He was propped upon his upturned bucket, near
enough to the fire to dispense the coffee without rising from his seat.

"Yup. It's a long trail for a man to make travellin' light an' on his
lone," Victor was saying, while his black eyes flashed swiftly upon his
companions. "It's not a summer picnic, I guess. Maybe you're wonderin'
what I come for."

He ceased speaking as a heavy blast shook the roof, and set the lamp
swinging dangerously.

"We're good an' pleased to see you--" began Ralph, in his deliberate
way; but Victor broke in upon him at once.

"O' course you are. It's like you an' Nick there to feel that way. But
human natur's human natur', an' maybe so