He had gone, we agreed, for one of two reasons: to get food, or to return in the dark and pick us off, much as we picked off the grouse from the branches. We inclined towards the latter theory--and kept eyes and ears wide open. We made a diminutive fire in a hollow, lest we be too visible in the surrounding darkness. We listened, watched, and waited. It was already dusk. The night fell quickly. River and forest became an impenetrable sheet of blackness, our tiny fire, almost too small to cook on, the only speck of light. The stars came out, peeping through the branches. There was no wind. We shivered in the cold, listening for every slightest sound ... and the hours passed. “He’ll wait till we’re asleep,” said R.M., keeping his eyes open with the greatest difficulty. Paxton fingered his revolver and mumbled “Ouch! Ouch!” Only the cold prevented us falling asleep, as, weapons in hand, we took turns to watch and listen. Had we the right to fire the instant we saw a figure? Should we wait till the scoundrel made a sign? We discussed endlessly in whispers. Though no wind stirred the branches, the noises in that “silent” forest never ceased, because no forest ever is, or can be, really silent. The effort of listening produced them by the dozen. On every side twigs snapped and dry wood crackled. Soft, stealthy footsteps were everywhere on the pine-needles. Canoes landed higher up and lower down; paddles dripped out in the river as someone approached; sometimes two or three dim figures crouched low on the shore, sometimes only one. Finally, for safety’s sake, we let the fire go out altogether. Armed to the teeth, we were still shivering in the cold darkness well on into the night, and at some distance from the dying embers, when suddenly--we nearly screamed--there was a sound of a voice. It was a man’s voice; he was angry; he was cursing. A flame shot up beneath the trees. We saw Gallup on his knees blowing up the hemlock coals. He had landed, pulled his canoe on to the bank, and come up to within a few yards of where we stood without our hearing the faintest sound. He said no word. He cooked himself no food. He just made a huge fire, spread his blanket beside the comforting blaze, curled up, and fell asleep. We soon followed his example. Probably he had enjoyed a square meal with the Indians, then sauntered home to bed.... Next day we reached Rainy Lake City, paid him off, and saw him push off upstream in his Maine canoe without having uttered a single word. He just counted the dollar bills and vanished.