Strong Deer went back to the house with Albert.

"We'll have Edna fix that cut on your face," Cunning Fox told him.

He rubbed his cheek numbly. "It's all right."

"It will be when she gets through with it," Cunning Fox told him. "She'll wash it out with soap and water and use some stuff on it that'll feel like it sets you afire. I think Edna's got the idea medicine isn't any good unless it burns or tastes bad."

The boy knew Albert was trying to help him think about something besides his mother and the letter that he had just received, but he ached too much inwardly even to listen. It was all his own fault, he reasoned, because of the curse that had been put on him. If he hadn't made the spirits angry, the deer would have appeared to him in his dream after he burned the sweet grass and tobacco. The spirit of the deer would have become his helper and would have healed his mother.

Edna Cunning Fox threw her arms about him and hugged him, tears trickling down her cheeks. "Come over here so I can clean you up," she ordered crisply, just as Albert had said she would. "You look a sight."

"I can wash myself," he muttered in protest. She didn't have to treat him like a little kid.

"That cut's got to be cleaned out good or you'll get infection." She washed away all the dried blood and dirt then got out the medicine that Albert had complained about. "Now this is going to hurt a little."

"See," her husband broke in. "What did I tell you? She uses it every chance she gets. She enjoys making us suffer."

"You're not helping things a bit," she scolded, moistening a cotton swab in the disinfectant. "This will hurt a little, Strong Deer, but it will keep you from getting infection, which would be a lot worse."

He thought he had steeled himself against the burn of the medication but it bit as savagely as a trapped lynx. "Ouch!" He jerked back involuntarily, knocking the bottle from Edna's hand. The disinfectant spilled from the bottle, spreading on the floor. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed.

"You should be," Albert laughed. "It'll probably burn a hole in the floor."

"Don't pay any attention to him." She put a Band-Aid on the ragged tear. "He talks that way all the time, but he doesn't get infection when he hurts himself. That's what I care about."

Within seconds the sting was gone and by morning he didn't even remember having been hurt until he ran a finger across his cheek.

He said little to Albert and Edna about his mother and they seldom mentioned her to him except to remind him occasionally that they were praying for her. He could think of little else, however. And, once in a while he felt that he had to talk about her. "I think maybe I have a letter from the hospital waiting for me at the village," Strong Deer said hopefully, as though that might be sufficient reason for them to cross the wide expanse of water to the village. "Will you be going out soon?"

Albert picked up the worn leather mitt he used to handle the mink and looked at the hole in the thumb. The new ones his wife ordered for him hadn't come when they were out the last time. "Ehe. We'll have to go out for supplies and the mail in a few days. If we don't have a letter for you I'll try to get a QSO [radio and telephone connection] through to the hospital and see how she is."

That eased the hurt a little but the numbing ache was still there in Strong Deer's heart. This time, he decided, he was going to ask to go along. And if they'd take him, they wouldn't need the two-way radio and telephone to call the hospital about his mother; he'd get old Rabbit Skin to have the spirits show him. He might even get the medicine man to remove the curse that kept him from getting a spirit helper. Then he could go to the spirits himself. Then he could help his mother.

He was still thinking about that when one of the bigger male minks managed to get out of his pen, drop lightly to the ground and scurry for cover.

Strong Deer saw that the gate was open and sped to close it. "Blackie!" he shouted for the dog.

Albert's shrill whistle brought Blackie bounding to the pens. The mink was completely out of sight, but the dog's sensitive nose picked up the scent and soon located him. Capturing the W-tempered animal with his foot, the dog barked triumphantly.

"Good boy, Blackie. " Albert pulled on the mitts. "Good boy." The catching trap was at the other end of the long shed. Albert was in a hurry, so he reached over to pick up the mink by hand. The struggling animal writhed violently, his needle-sharp teeth seeking a victim. Albert saw what was about to happen and jerked his hand away, but he was too late: the teeth of the mink snapped shut on his thumb. "He bit me!"

Strong Deer stopped what he was doing and ran over to the mink rancher. Blood was oozing from the gashes in his thumb. "I'll bet that hurts?"

Albert pulled off the mitt and wrapped his thumb in his handkerchief. "I should have known better than to try that with a worn out mitt." The corner of his mouth lifted in a thin smile. "Here I've been telling you to be careful and I do a stupid thing like this."

"You'd better go in and get it taken care of."

Edna frowned uneasily as she saw the torn thumb. "I wish I had some of that disinfectant."

"Wash it out with soap and water. It'll do just fine and won't hurt half so much." He glanced at Strong Deer. "Think you can finish feeding the mink?"

The boy's grin flashed and he was off. Why couldn't he take care of the mink? He had been helping Cunning Fox for a month and a half. It wasn't as hard a job as all that.

The next morning Albert's thumb was swollen and red. His wife got a basin of hot water for him to soak it in. "I don't like the looks of that," she said. "You ought to get to a doctor."

"We can't leave Strong Deer alone so long with the mink."

"I can take care of them." The boy's eyes were bright with promise. "I know everything to do."

"I could stay and help him," Edna volunteered.

Cunning Fox was concerned. The frown lines about his lean mouth were taut, and he looked out the door at the heaving lake beyond their calm little bay. The wind was up again. The throbbing pain in his hand and arm was so great that he didn't know whether he could handle the boat alone. "We'll see."

"Shall I go out and lift the nets?" the Indian boy asked. "As soon as Edna gets through with me I'll help you." "I can do it alone."

Albert nodded gratefully. "I believe you can, at that."

Albert came down to the dock when Strong Deer brought his catch in, and again while he was boiling the suckers and mixing the feed. The mink rancher watched approvingly. "You're doing all right," he said. "In fact you're doing as well as I could myself."

His words warmed Strong Deer's heart. The boy was trying hard to do everything exactly the way it should be. It made him feel good when they noticed.

In spite of the pain Albert spent much time talking to Strong Deer that evening after they listened to the Cree broadcast. "You're a good boy," he said. "Both Edna and I want you to have a happy life."

"Ehe," he murmured. The only way he could have a happy life, he told himself, was for his mother to be well. But he didn't tell them that. It would only make them feel bad.

"We pray much for you," Cunning Fox continued. "I pray much for you. I keep praying that you will not fall into evil ways, as I once did." The boy wasn't sure what the older man was talking about. He studied the mink rancher's smooth face seriously.

"Let Jesus come into your heart," Albert continued. "He will keep your life clean and pure, and help you to live the way God wants you to live."

Strong Deer was quiet and thoughtful. There was something in Cunning Fox's words that tugged at him almost irresistibly. He wasn't sure that he wanted to follow their God. He kept hearing the words of Rabbit Skin that the old ways were the best for the Indian and the spirit helpers would do great and wonderful things for those whom believed and brought them many gifts. But when he saw the faces of the mink rancher and his wife, he knew their God had given them much or they couldn't be so contented and happy. He didn't quite understand why they were like they were, but he realized that it must be something wonderful. He lay awake for an hour or more, thinking about the things Albert had said to him.

Cunning Fox didn't sleep well that night either, but for a different reason. The infection in his thumb worsened, and by morning it was twice its normal size. An angry red streak was crawling up his arm.

Edna's lips tightened when she looked at it. "You've got to get to a doctor!" she exclaimed firmly.

He knew the symptoms as well as she. The infection was in his bloodstream and his temperature was climbing. He was in the first stages of blood poisoning. "I can't manage the boat alone."

"I'm going with you," she announced.

"But what of the mink?"

"Strong Deer can take care of them."

"We can't leave him here alone," Albert protested. "We may be gone a week!"

Only then did the Indian boy speak up. "I'm not afraid," he said, trying to sound braver than he was.