Each day thereafter the sun was warmer, and
with its increasing promise of the final "break-up" and slush snows,
Upso-Gee's taciturnity and anxiety grew apace. He was little more
talkative than the painted devil chaser on the blackened canvas of his
tepee, but he gave David to understand that he would have a hard time
getting back with his dogs and sledge from Fond du Lac if the thaw came
earlier than he had anticipated. David marvelled at the old warrior's
endurance, and especially when they crossed the forty miles of ice on
Wollaston Lake between dawn and darkness. At high noon the snow was
beginning to soften on the sunny slopes even then, and by the time they
reached the Porcupine, Snow Fox was chanting his despairing prayer
nightly before that grinning thing on his tepee. "Swas-tao (the thaw)
she kam dam' queek," he said to David, grimacing his old face to
express other things which he could not say in English. And it did. Four
days later, when they reached Fond du Lac, there was water underfoot in
places, and Upso-Gee turned back on the home trail within an hour.
This was in April, and the Post reminded David of a great hive to which
the forest people were swarming like treasure-laden bees. On the last
snow they were coming in with their furs from a hundred trap-lines.
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