It was a simple cabin, equipped with homemade furniture of rude yet serviceable design. On the one bunk that was built in against the wall opposite the door, the writer of the note lay, stiff with the cold. Steel went over and looked down upon the figure. He shook his head slowly. “Too bad you had to die all alone that way,” he said, “It must have been pretty lonely for you during those last hours, old-timer.” He heard Miller, who was standing behind him, give that snort of his, and somehow the sound got on Steel’s nerves, as any characteristic substitute for words will do if repeated often enough. Steel said, “Pretty tough, just the same, to pass out that way.” He turned and faced Miller. The bigger man had a rifle in his hands, eyeing it critically and working the breech. “Little rusty,” Miller observed, “but she ain’t half bad. Better’n mine, anyhow. And--say, here’s something!” The speaker went quickly to where a pair of Indian-made moccasins of finest moosehide stood on the floor near the long-neglected stove. They were, Steel saw, covered with glittering beads that were woven into strange, fantastic patterns. He had never seen a pair of moccasins like them, and he guessed that they must be rare. Miller had picked one up. He now measured it against the sole of one of his own boots. “Say,” he exclaimed, “they’ll just fit me, and I’m here to say gear like them ain’t found every day.” Steel watched him with growing disapproval. Under ordinary circumstances he himself might have been tempted to take some of the dead man’s belongings, particularly those moccasins which had caught Miller’s eye. They would, if left, only fall to pieces and rot. But somehow the very eagerness with which the big man had seized upon the property of the dead man created in him a distaste for the proceedings. He came to dislike Miller in this moment, and inasmuch as he felt this way, he disliked also the man’s actions, disliked the way he fondled those moccasins which the dead man once had worn. Oh, he was probably a fool, no doubt, he reasoned, feeling this way. He shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. And if Miller noted the young man’s unspoken distaste, he too said nothing. He suggested finally, though, “Say, ain’t you goin’ to knuckle onto some of this truck? Might as well,” he pointed out. Steel smiled. Then slowly the smile hardened. “You seem to have taken about everything for yourself,” he said. Miller snorted. Steel felt like hitting him. “Well, kid,” the other said, “up in this land, you’ve got to look out for yourself. If you wanted them moccasins, why didn’t you take ’em? Judgin’ by the way you act, you’d done well to brought your nurse along when you come north.” Steel took a step forward, then swallowed hard and choked down his growing wrath. He said, meeting Miller’s eyes, “I’ll overlook that this time. Next time, be careful though.”