The prisoner made a quick move with his foot.
"You kick that dog again and it's your last kick," said the Indian.
"Who's kicked yer dog, and what do you mean coming here with yer cutthroat ways?
You'll find there's law in this country before yer through," was the answer.
"That's what we're looking for, you trap robber, you thief.

We're here first to find our traps; second to tell you this: the next time you come on our line there'll be meat for the ravens.

Do you suppose I don't know them ?" and the Indian pointed to a large pair of snowshoes with long heels and a repair lashing on the right frame.

"See that blue yarn," and the Indian matched it with a blue sash hanging to a peg.
"Yes, them belongs to Bill Hawkins; he'll be 'round in five minutes now." The Indian made a gesture of scorn; then turning to Rolf said: "look 'round for our traps." Rolf made a thorough search in and about the shanty and the adjoining shed.

He found some traps but none with his mark; none of a familiar make even.
"Better hunt for a squaw and papoose," sneered Hoag, who was utterly puzzled by the fact that now Rolf was obviously a white lad.
But all the search was vain.