Bob, absolutely
honest and guileless himself, in spite of Dick's constant assertion
that Micmac was a thief and worse, was easily deceived by the
half-breed's bland manner. Unfortunately he had not learned that every
one else was not as honest and straightforward as himself. Micmac's
attempt upon his life he had ascribed to a sudden burst of anger, and
it was forgiven and forgotten. The selfish enmity, the blackness of
heart, the sinister nature that will never overlook and will go to any
length to avenge a real or fancied wrong--the characteristics of a
half-breed Indian--were wholly beyond his comprehension. He had never
dissembled himself, and he did not know that the smiling face and
smooth tongue are often screens of deception.
"We'll be havin' supper now," suggested Bob, lifting the boiling
kettle off the stove and throwing in some tea. "I'm fair starved."
After they had eaten Micmac filled his pipe and lounged back, smoking
in silence for some time, apparently deep in thought. Finally he
asked, "When ye goin' back t' th' river, Bob?"
"I'm not thinkin t' start back till Wednesday an' maybe Thursday, an'
reach un Monday or Tuesday after. Bill won't be gettin' there till
Tuesday, an' Dick an' Ed expects t' be there then t' spend Christmas
an' hunt deer.
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