'Twere worth a fortune, and Pop'll never cotch another.

He were hopin' and hopin' every year as long as I remembers to cotch a silver, and none ever comes to his traps till this un comes.

And now she's gone!" Perhaps had the silver fox skin been Eli's own, and perhaps had his father and mother not built so many hopes and laid so many plans upon the little fortune it was to have brought them, Eli would never have ventured to the verge of murder to recover it.

Even now, with all his regrets, he thanked God from the bottom of his heart that he had not killed Indian Jake and stained his hands with blood.
"'Twere the mercy of God sent the bullet abroad," said he reverently.
"Indian Jake's a thief and he deserves to be killed, but if I'd killed he I'd never rested an easy hour again while I lives.

But I might o' clipped his trigger hand, whatever," he thought with regret.