confidence in those with whom the little
party might come in contact.

After all, Sam Bolton was well satisfied. He had, by his simple
diplomacy, gained several valuable results. He had firmly convinced one
man of a common body, wherein news travels quickly, of his apparent
intentions; he had, furthermore, an exact knowledge of where to find
each and every district head-man of the whole Kabinikagam country.
Whether or not the man he sought would prove to be one of these
head-men, or the guest or lessee of one of them, was a question only to
be answered by direct search. At least he knew where to search, which
was a distinct and valuable advantage.

"Mi-gwetch--thank you," he said to the Indian when he had finished. "I
understand. I go now to see the Lake. I go to talk to each of your
head-men. I go to see the trapping country with my own eyes. When I
have seen all, I go to Winnipeg to tell my head-man what I have seen."

The Indian nodded. It would have been quite inconceivable to him had Sam
suggested accepting anything less than the evidence of his eyes.

The three resumed their journey that afternoon. Sam knew exactly where
he was going. Dick had fallen into a sullen yet rebellious mood,
unaccountable even to himself. In his spirit was the ferment of a
resentfulness absolutely without logical object. With such a man ferment
demands action. Here, in the accustomed labours of this woods travel,
was nothing to bite on save monotony. Dick Herron resented the monotony,
resented the deliberation necessary to so delicate a mission, resented
the unvarying tug of his tump-line or the unchanging yield of the water
to his paddle, resented the placidity of the older man, above all
resented the meek and pathetic submissiveness of the girl. His narrow
eyes concentrated their gaze ominously. He muttered to himself. The
untrained, instinctive strength of the man's spirit fretted against
delay. His enthusiasm, the fire of his hope, urged him to earn his
self-approval by great exertion. Great exertion was impossible. Always,
day by day, night by night, he chafed at the snail-like pace with which
things moved, chafed at the delay imposed by the nature of the quest,
the policy of the old man, the presence of the girl. Only, in the
rudimentary processes of his intelligence, he confused the three in one,
and the presence of the girl alone received the brunt of his sullen
displeasure. In the splendour of his strength, head down, heart