summer trail--to gather pelts,
and learn a craft I know by heart. I keep the Sleeper boys busy, and in
good heart. I'm the big hunter they like to follow. I'm the son of a
great white chief they say, and, for me, they're sort of fool dolls I
pull the strings of, while Uncle Steve does the big man's work. Can you
beat it? It's all wrong. You and Uncle Steve are twice my age. You've
crowded a life's work--for me. You both reckon to go on--always for me.
While I sit around guessing I'm a man because I know a jack-rabbit from
a bull-moose. It's got to alter. It's going to alter--after the summer.
I want the big scrap, An-ina. The real scrap life can hand a feller that
can write 'man' to his name. I'm out for it all. I want it all. And if
Uncle Steve's right, and I'm wrong, and I go under, I'm ready to take
the med'cine however it comes."

The smile of the woman was full of the mother. It was full of the
Indian, too.

"Oh, yes," she said quickly. "What you call him, 'chance.' The 'big
chance.' So it is. It good. So very, very good for the big man. Marcel
the big man. I know. Oh, yes. I know. The chance it come. Maybe easy.
Maybe not. It come. So it is always. It come, you take it. You not must
look, or you find trouble. You take it. Always take it when it come.
That how An-ina think."

Marcel laughed. His impatience had vanished before the sun of his happy
temperament.

"You've dodged the dogs, An-ina," he cried. "You're too cute for me.
You've agreed with me, and haven't handed an inch of ground. But I tell
you right here, you dear old second mother of mine, I'm going to play
the man as I see the game. And I'm going to play it good."

* * * * *

The expression on the man's dusky face was deadly earnest. His lean
brown hands were spread out over the fire for warmth. His fur-clad body
was hunched upon his quarters, as near to the glowing embers as safety
permitted. And as he talked a look of awe and apprehension dilated his
usually unexpressive eyes.

"The fire run this way--that way," he cried, in a voice of monotonous
cadence, but with a note of urgency behind it. "The man stand by dogs.
He look--look all the time. Fire all same everywhere. It burn up all.
Nothing left. Only two men. Boss Steve and Julyman. Oh, yes. They stan'.
They look, too. They no fear. So they not burn all up. The man by the
dogs much scare. He left him club, an' beat all dogs. So they all crazed
with him club.