following. Well, I had told him that we should meet again. I untied
the strings of the bag and turned its contents into my handkerchief.
There was an amulet in the form of a beaver's paw, a twist of tobacco,
a flint, a tin looking-glass, and a folded sheet of birch bark. I
stopped a moment. Should I look further? It was wartime and I was
dealing with a savage. I unfolded the bark and pressed it open in my
palm. There, boldly drawn in crayon, was a head in profile; it was the
profile of the woman who lay in the lodge, and whose mat-hung door I
was guarding. Yes, it was her profile, and it was one that no man
could forget, though when I speak of a straight nose and an oddly
rounded chin, they are but words to fit a thousand faces.

I refolded the bark, put it in my pocket, and buried the dog. Then I
sat down before the woman's wigwam. I had one point to work on in my
speculations. No Indian would draw a head in profile, for he would be
superstitious about creating half of a person. I slept no more that
night.




CHAPTER XIV

A PROVISIONAL BARGAIN

I began my day as early as I thought it wise to disturb the sleepers
around me, and by the time the sun was two hours high I had
accomplished several things. I had confessed to the priest, had had a
clean lodge of green boughs built for the woman, and had bargained and
bantered with the Indians, and blustered over them with knowledge of