ll go back an' say th' Mingen
Injuns took his fur. I fixed that wi' my story all right. I'll take
th' lot t' Mingen an' get cash fer 'em, an' be back t' th' Bay with
open water with 'nuff martens so's they won't suspect me."

He started a fire and slept until shortly after daylight. Then had
breakfast and started down the trail towards the river at the same
rapid pace that he had held before.

It was not quite dark when he glimpsed the tilt, and approached it
with even more caution than he had observed above.

"He don't know enough to lie," said he to himself, referring to Bob,
"but it's best t' take care, fer one o' th' others might be here."

When he was satisfied that the tilt was unoccupied he entered boldly
and appropriated every skin of fur he found--not only all of Bob's,
but also a few martens Bill had left there. No time was lost, for any
accident might send Bill or one of the others here at an unexpected
moment. The pelts were packed quickly but carefully into his hunting
bag and within twenty minutes after his arrival he was retreating up
the trail at a half run.

Some time after dark he reached the first tilt above the river, where
he spent the night. Short cuts and fast travelling brought him on
Sunday night to the tilt at the end of the trail where he had left
Bob. He made quite certain that the lad had really gone on his caribou
hunt, and then went boldly in and made himself as comfortable as he
could for the night without a stove, for Bob had taken the stove with
him, to heat his tent.

"If he comes back t'-night and finds me here," he said, "I'll just
tell him I changed my mind an' came back t' go on th' deer hunt. I'll
lie t' him about what I got in my bag an' he'll never suspicion; he
don't know enough."

Micmac John's work was not yet finished. He had arranged a full and
complete revenge. Bob's hunt for caribou would carry him far away from
the tilt and into a section where no searching party would be likely
to go. The half-breed's plan was now to follow and shoot the lad from
ambush. If by chance any one ever should find the body--which seemed a
quite improbable happening--Bob's death would no doubt be laid at the
door of the Nascaupee Indians.

Micmac John deposited the bag of stolen pelts in a safe place in the
tilt, intending to return for them after his bloody mission was
accomplished, and several hours before daylight on Monday morning
started out in the ghostly moonlight to trail Bob