He was monstrously fat--fat from laziness; and David wondered how he had managed to put in his hours of labour under the totem pole.

David sat in silence, trying to make out something from their gestures, as his half-breed, Jacques, and the old chief talked.
Jacques repeated it all to him after Towaskook, sighing deeply, had risen from his squatting posture, and left them.

It was a terrible journey over those mountains, Towaskook had said.

He had been on the Stikine once.

He had split with his tribe, and had started eastward with many followers, but half of them had died--died because they would not leave their precious totems behind--and so had been caught in a deep snow that came early.