When James Smith, or Scouwa, had been some years among the Indians, he
was in a winter camp with two of his adopted brothers. The younger of
these, with his family, went away to another place. Scouwa was left
with the older brother and his little son.
The older brother was a very wise Indian. He had thought much about
many things. He talked to his young white brother on many subjects, and
James always remembered him as a great man.
The wise Indian was now suffering from rheumatism. He could hardly move
out of his winter hut at all. But he bore it all with gentle patience.
Scouwa had to do all the hunting for himself, the old man, and the boy.
Almost the only food to be had was deer meat. From time to time Scouwa
succeeded in killing a deer. But at last there came a crust of snow.
Whenever the hunter tried to creep up to a deer, the crust would break
under his feet with a little crash, and the noise would frighten the
deer away. After a while there was no food in the cabin.
Once Scouwa hunted two days without coming back to the cabin, and with
nothing to eat. He came back at last empty-handed.