the house. The woman amused him,
although he was most grateful for her kindness. It was a beautiful
morning, and not a ripple ruffled the surface of the lake. The village
was astir with life, the voices of children and the barking of dogs
resounding on every side. No one interfered with him as he walked
slowly along the street, but he could easily tell that he was being
watched by many curious eyes. He had the feeling, too, that he was a
prisoner, and while he could roam about at will, to escape would be
impossible. The strong burly Indians he saw seemed to have nothing to
do, but he knew that this was their idle season, and that during the
winter they would be off to their hunting-grounds.

Reynolds was much interested in the store which he presently reached.
A couple of Indians were in charge, who nodded to him as he entered,
but apparently paid no further attention to him after their formal
salutation. The building was well filled with all kinds of goods, and
resembled a large up-to-date store in some large country town such as
he had often seen. The sight of pipes and tobacco made him realise
that he had not smoked for days, and having his money with him, he soon
made his purchase. He stayed for a while at the store, smoking, and
watching the customers as they came and went. It was all of
considerable interest to him, and he beheld in this trading-place
another tangible evidence of Jim Weston's influence.

He spent the rest of the morning wandering about the village, and it
was noon by the time he returned to the house, which for the present he
called home. Here he found Sconda near the back door carefully
examining a large bearskin. He turned as the young man approached, and
without the least sign of surprise, motioned to the skin.

"See um?" he asked. "Beeg skin, eh?"

"It certainly is," was the reply. "A grizzly?"

"Ah, ha. You shoot um, eh?"

"Why, that's not the one I shot on Crooked Trail, is it?" Reynolds
asked in astonishment.

"Ah, ah. All sam' bear. Skin dry bimeby."

"What are you going to do with it? Will you let me have it?"

Sconda shook his head as he again felt the skin.

"Missie Glen get skin bimeby."

"Is it for her?"

"Ah, ah. She want skin. She send Injuns to Deep Gulch. She tell
Sconda make good skin. Bimeby Missie Glen put skin in room, all sam'
dis," and Sconda stooped and spread his hands over the ground.

Reynolds understood, and his heart bounded with j