The Sign of the Beaver by Elizabeth George Speare Page B

except for a single patch running back from his forehead and braided into a topknot fastened with red string. Like the fresh bear grease that glistened on his skin, pride glistened all over him.
    Moreover, he carried a gleaming new rifle.
    "You've got a gun!" Matt cried, politeness forgotten.
    "My grandfather trade many beaver skin," Attean answered. Though he had in these last days become a man, he had not learned altogether to hide his feelings. He did not say more. He waited now for his grandfather to speak.
    The old man's face was grave, but he did not ask about the lessons. "Time of sun get shorter," he said, "like footsteps of bird. Soon ice on water."
    "I know it's October," Matt said. "Maybe November." He had not wanted to count his sticks these last weeks.
    "Indian go north now," Saknis continued. "Hunt moose. All Indians go. Attean not come more to learn white man's signs."
    Matt could not answer.
    "White father not come," Saknis went on.
    Matt spoke quickly. "He ought to be here any day now."
    Saknis looked at him soberly. "Maybe him not come," he said quietly.
    Anger flared up in Matt. He could not allow this man to speak the fear he had never dared to admit to himself. "Of course he'll come," he said, too loudly. "He might even come today."
    "Snow come soon," Saknis persisted. "Not good white boy stay here alone. White boy come with Indians."
    Matt stared at him. Did he mean go on the hunt with them? The most important hunt of the year?
    Saknis smiled for the first time. "Saknis teach white boy hunt moose like Attean. White boy and Attean be like brother."
    A sudden joyful hope sprang into Mart's mind. He realized at this moment just how anxious he had been. This was a way out. He did not have to stay here alone through the long winter. Then, as swiftly as it had come, this new hope died away. In spite of his longing, in spite of being afraid, he knew what he had to answer.
    "Thank you," he said. "I'd like to go on the hunt. But I can't do that. If—when my father comes, he wouldn't know where I had gone."
    "Leave white man's writing."
    Matt swallowed hard. "Something might happen to the cabin. He's trusting me to take care of it."
    "Maybe him not come," Saknis said again, not smiling now.
    "He'll be here soon," Matt insisted. He was ashamed that his voice broke in the middle of the word. "If he couldn't come, he'd send someone to tell me. He'd find some way, no matter what happened. You don't know my pa."
    Saknis was silent for some time. "White boy good son," he said at last. "But better you come. Saknis glad for white boy be
nkweniss.
"
    Matt could only keep shaking his head. The man's words had brought a great lump in his throat. "Thank you," he managed. "You've been very good to me. But I have to stay here."
    Without another word, Saknis held out his hand. Matt put his own hand into that bony grasp. Then the two Indians turned and went away. Attean had not even said goodbye. There would be no lesson that morning. No story. No tramping in the forest, or fishing. Not this morning or any other morning.
    Close to panic, Matt wanted to run after them. He wanted to tell them that he had changed his mind. That he would go with them anywhere rather than stay here alone with winter coming on. But he set his jaw tight and stood where he was. After a few minutes he reached for his axe and fell to splitting logs with a fury.
    He couldn't keep from thinking, however. Was he just being foolish and stubborn? Wasn't going with them the wisest thing he could have done? Wouldn't his father have understood?
    He remembered hearing that many white men—and white women too—who had been captured by the Indians and had lived many years in the wilderness, did not want to return to the white world when they had a chance, but had chosen instead to live with the Indians. He had never understood that, but now he could see very well how it might happen. He no longer distrusted them. He knew that Attean and his grandfather would be