At such times he longed with all the power of his soul to be among those scenes far southward, which he called home.
For days Rea never spoke a word, only gazed into the fire, ate and slept.

Jones, drifting far from his real self, feared the strange mood of the trapper and sought to break it, but without avail.

More and more he reproached himself, and singularly on the one fact that, as he did not smoke himself, he had brought only a small store of tobacco.

Rea, inordinate and inveterate smoker, had puffed away all the weed in clouds of white, then had relapsed into gloom..