XVI
ONE OF THE TRIBE
If Bob Gray had held any secret hope that the Indians would eventually
listen to his plea to guide him back to the Big Hill trail it was
mercilessly swept away by the next move, for again they faced steadily
towards the north. Whenever he thought of home a lump came into his
throat, but he always swallowed it bravely and said to himself:
"'Tis wrong now t' be grievin' when I has so much t' be thankful for.
Bill'll be takin' th' silver fox an' other fur out, and when father
sells un 'twill pay for Emily's goin' t' th' doctor. Th' Lard saved me
from freezin', an' I'm well an' th' Injuns be wonderful good t' me.
Maybe some time they'll be goin' back th' Big Hill way--maybe 'twill
be next winter--an' then I'll be gettin' home."
In this manner the hope of youth always conquered, and his desperate
situation was to some extent forgotten in the pictures he drew for
himself of his reunion with the loved ones in the uncertain "Sometime"
of the future.
On and on they travelled through the endless, boundless white, over
wind-swept rocky hills so inhospitably barren that even the snow could
not find a lodgment on them, or over wide plains where the few trees
that grew had been stunted and gnarled into mere shrubs by winter
blasts.
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