"One ought to wear deerskins, or something of that kind here." Weston heard nothing further, and remembered that, after all, the girl's sentiments were no concern of his.

It was his business to prepare the supper and wait on the party; and he set about it.
Darkness had descended upon the valley when he laid the plates of indurated ware on a strip of clean white shingle, and then drawing back a few yards sat down beneath the first of the pines in case they needed anything further.

A fire blazed and crackled between two small logs felled for the purpose and rolled close together, and its flickering light fell upon him and those who sat at supper, except at times when it faded suddenly and the shadows closed in again.

He was then attired picturesquely in a fringed deerskin jacket dressed by some of the Blackfeet across the Rockies.

Kinnaird, who had once or twice glanced in his direction, gazed hard at him.
"Have you ever been in India ?" he asked.
"No, sir," said Weston in a formal manner, though "sir" is not often used deferentially in western Canada.
Kinnaird appeared thoughtful.
"Well," he said, "I can't help thinking that I have come across you somewhere before.