Strong Deer's concern for his mother continued to grow, but he gave little thought to his own future. It wasn't the way of the Cree to worry. A full stomach and money enough for the needs of the day were all anyone could ask. There was always food in the bush for the taking. A man could track down a moose or shoot a couple of beaver or snare a few rabbits, and then his stomach would be full.

Besides, he was sure he would be able to stay with Rabbit Skin and his wife until his mother was well enough to come home and take care of him. That was another custom of the Cree and had been long before the coming of the white man: If a member of the tribe had a need, he could go to anyone else in the tribe and get help. It was the way the tribesmen protected the ill and helped the man with a run of misfortune, as long as there was enough food of their own to eat.

But Rabbit Skin was too old and crippled to work or go out in the bush for moose, or jumpers, as they called the deer that roamed about everywhere. The only money he earned came from his nets. Strong Deer did what he could to help. He started the medicine man's kicker (the motor on his boat), helped lift the nets and pack the fish. He wrapped the nylon gill nets on the big wooden wheels when they needed drying. And when he thought of his sick mother, he skillfully hid the inevitable tears.

"You are a good boy, Strong Deer," the old man said approvingly. "One day you will be a great hunter."

The Indian boy beamed. From anyone else the statement would have meant only flattery. From Rabbit Skin, it was the highest praise he could voice. To be a great hunter was, in the old man's eyes, the most important achievement a Cree could attain.

Strong Deer had no other wish than to stay with Rabbit Skin. One day he would tell the aged spirit worshipper about his own desire for a spirit helper. And, if he was brave enough, he might even share with him the story of the curse. It could be that the old man was in such favor with the spirits that he would be able to remove it.

But the thought of telling him what happened at the sacred place years before was enough to thin Strong Deer's blood to water and steal the strength from his knees. He knew Rabbit Skin loved him as his own son but he also knew that Rabbit Skin's fear of the spirits was greater than this love. He might turn savagely on Strong Deer, doubling the terror of the curse. And so he waited, wanting to share his secret, but fearing to.

Before he could bring himself to loosen his tongue there was a change in the house where he was staying. He scarcely noticed it at first, but gradually he became aware that the medicine man's wife no longer looked with favor upon his stay in their meagre cabin. She had become sullen and uncommunicative, as though he were not even there. She slammed the smoked fish and pemmican on the table in front of him with poorly hidden impatience and talked ominously of an empty grub box. The food on the table dwindled with each succeeding day.

Strong Deer was young and only dimly aware of the ways of his people, but he got the message the woman was conveying. By tradition the unfortunate could remain in another home in the village as long as there was food to eat. For a woman to announce it was time for an unwelcome guest to leave was an indescribable breach of manners that would bring down the scorn of everyone else upon them. But there were other ways of getting the news to him.

Conversation ceased and the portions of smoked fish or dried moose meat in the pot grew smaller and smaller. The time had come for him to move on.

He was not alone in reading the message from the kitchen. Rabbit Skin also got it and made arrangements for him to move to the home of a mink rancher on an island halfway across the big lake. "You are welcome to stay with my wife and me," he stressed, since in his position he could not turn his back on tribal custom. "But I am a poor man and cannot pay you for helping me. Cunning Fox has need of a boy to help him with his mink. He has strange ways for a Cree, but it will be a good place for you to stay and you will be paid for what you do." His dark eyes searched Strong Deer's serious young face. "It will be good, kawin?"

It would not be good, the boy told himself He didn't want to leave the village where he had been born and lived all his life. He didn't want to leave Rabbit Skin and his wife, even if she had tired of him and was running him out. He didn't want to leave his friends or the village where his mother would come back to when she was over the sickness of the lungs.

Yet, going out to the island would be better than moving in with the government nurse that never smiled and who never ate bannock or beaver tails or pemmican. Working for the stranger would be far better than living with the white woman.

Cunning Fox was feeding the mink that morning when the medicine man took Strong Deer far out into the lake to see him. He left the pens at the whining sound of the approaching kicker and went, curiously, down to the dock. It was not often that visitors came to the little island. The RCMP stopped once in a while on its tour of the lake, and an occasional fur buyer came to look over his herd and urge him to sell his pelts to him. But that was all.

"Ehe, " he said, in response to Rabbit Skin's question. "Yes, I need a boy to help me." A smile rested pleasantly on his lips. "Come into the house, Cousin, and we will talk about it over a cup of tea." The medicine man wasn't really the mink rancher's cousin. That was only a greeting of the Cree, a term of warmth and friendliness.

Strong Deer decided at once that he liked the stranger and his wife. They smiled much, and even when they were serious there was no harshness in their faces. They were the kind of people he could enjoy living with. He began to hope they would like him half as much as he liked them. He glanced quickly at his twisted, arthritic companion, striving to read in the old man's eyes some indication of his chance of getting to stay with Cunning Fox and his wife. But Rabbit Skin's face was inscrutable.

The mink rancher's home was larger than any of the houses in Strong Deer's village, except that of the Hudson Bay manager and the government nurse, but it still had the familiar odors of moose hide moccasins and smoked fish and the faint smell of herbs drying in the window.

"And he is your grandson?" Edna Cunning Fox asked the medicine man.

"Kawin," Rabbit Skin shook his head negatively. "But he has been making his home with us while his mother is in the hospital with the sickness of the lungs."

Concern shadowed her eyes, and for a minute Strong Deer thought she was about to cry. He did not understand. She had never met him before and didn't even know his mother. Why should she care?

"We will have to pray for her, Albert," she told her husband.

'Ehe."

Strong Deer didn't know what praying was about, but they sounded as though it would help his mother. And that meant much to him.

Rabbit Skin told them that he and his wife would have given Strong Deer a home as long as he needed it. "But you have use of him and I-" He gestured helplessly, "have no money to pay him for what he does." Edna poured him another cup of tea and waited for her husband to speak.

"I don't know," Cunning Fox said at last. "We have been trying to get an older boy, someone we could leave in charge of the mink when we go out for supplies."

Strong Deer glanced up fearfully. He should have known that nothing so good could happen to him. The curse was still upon him, blighting his life.

"But he is strong and quick to learn," the medicine man said hurriedly, as though to stop Cunning Fox's refusal before he voiced it.

"And I would work cheap," added Strong Deer.

Edna fixed her brown eyes on the boy, She acted as though she wanted to gather him into her arms the way his mother used to do when no one was around to watch, before the coughing stole her strength and dulled the laughter in her face. He drew away slightly. It would be good to feel the woman's arms about him, holding him close, but he would die if she did it in front of Rabbit Skin. He was a man. He had no need for a woman's comforting.

"We could use him, Albert, she said quietly. "And he does need someone to look after him."

"Ehe," he murmured. "Having him around would be like having one of our own children at home again." He turned to his guests. "Our two boys and their sister are away at school."

For the moment Strong Deer forgot the ways of his people, so anxious was he to remain on the island with Cunning Fox and his wife. "Then I can stay?" he blurted.

Albert's mouth straightened and drooped severely at the corners. "You would work hard?" he demanded.

"Ehe," replied Strong Deer, his facial expression taut with determination.

"And you would take good care of the mink?"

"I'll do everything you tell me to," he answered eagerly.

"Are you good at fishing.?" the man persisted. "Do you know how to lift the nets?"

"You can ask Rabbit Skin! That is what I do for him, mostly." He motioned in the direction of the old Indian who had brought him out to the island. "And I bail the water out of the boat and keep the oil mixed with the gasoline for his kicker. You will see, I will do as well as any older boy you might get."

Cunning Fox hesitated, as though the last and most important question had yet to be asked. "And you will not eat much, Strong Deer?"

"I will eat like a swallow. I---" The words tumbled out before he realized the mink rancher was only teasing him. Their laughter warmed his heart. "I think maybe you are just the boy we have been looking for," Albert Cunning Fox said.

Now that he had accomplished his purpose, the old medicine man was anxious to be away. He sent the boy scampering to the boat to get his clothes and carry them up to the house. The boy liked old Rabbit Skin and knew he was liked in return, but no word of good-by passed between them. The Indian man simply got into his boat and left. Strong Deer went up to the house without looking back.

"This is where you will sleep," Edna told him. "It is our son's bedroom. You can keep your clothes in the corner."

He moved into the little room, eyes wide and staring. He had never had a room of his own before. The cabin where he and his mother lived in the village had only one bedroom, and that was for her. He had a blanket roll that was shoved under her bed in the daytime and was flung out on the kitchen floor at night.

He didn't know why there had to be a place for him to keep his clothes. He had never had anything like that at home. Such a thing had never occurred to him. How much room did he need for a parka, two extra shirts and a pair of jeans? In the winter

Time he usually kept his parka on the floor beside him, within easy reach, so he could pull it over him if the night was cold.

Here he had a room of his own, and a bed. In all his life he had never slept on a real bed before. He felt it gingerly. It was soft! Almost as soft as goose down!