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veins. He was a steady citizen, I figured. He still said nothing so I plunged in. "I'm a friend of Jim Prudhomme's family."  
    "Yeah?" he said at last. He wiped his greasy hands on the dry grass and reached for makin's in his top pocket. I let him roll a cigarette, then pulled out the motel matches and struck one. He leaned into the flame, sucked down smoke, and said, "What's on your mind?"  
    "I'm just talking to the people who found him. Spoke to the police chief, he told me you found the body for them when Prudhomme didn't show."  
    More smoke. Then he said, "Yeah."
    "I read what you put in the report they wrote, down at the station. You never mentioned any bear tracks there. Did you see any?"  
    I knew this was forcing the pace. I should have talked about the weather for a while, then his trapping and plans for the winter. Maybe, if I'd been cynical enough, I should have brought out a pint of rye. But I didn't want him thinking I knew anything about Indian protocol, and I don't believe in pouring drinks for people who may not need them. He stared at me for long enough to finish his cigarette. I waited politely and finally he said, "What makes you think there wasn't no tracks?"  
    "Figure a guy like you would've made a guess at the size of the bear if there had been," I said. "Only reason you wouldn't is if there wasn't a track."  
    He dropped the shriveled little butt, stepped on it, and picked up another trap. "Didn't see none," he said.
    He greased another trap without speaking. I stood and waited, sizing him up. He was just under six feet but couldn't have gone more than a hundred and forty. He looked as if he could walk the bush all winter with nothing more to eat than the meat he took from his traps, washed down maybe with the occasional pot of tea. He was one of the toughest men I'd ever seen. He could have been anything from thirty-five to sixty.  
    He looked up as he selected another trap. "You're the guy that beat on that big fella at the motel," he said. Fame!
    "There was a scuffle, not really a proper fight. I figure he must've been drunk." I've been in the violence business long enough to know you underplay everything, wins as well as losses, you never know which side your audience is on.  
    Misquadis grinned. "Nephew of mine was up at the bev'rage room. Says you fixed him good."
    I shrugged. "I don't like fights. I stopped him, that was all there was to it."
    Misquadis looked at me out of ancient brown eyes. "He beat up on my brother's kid one time. Kid was drunk. He broke his jaw." I waited and his leathery face split open like a slashed football. "I been waiting for him to pick the wrong guy. An' you was it."  
    Good, I decided. I had made all the brownie points I needed. I grinned an Aw Shucks kind of grin and waited and at last he talked to me. "You was right. No sign of bear tracks, no bear shit, nothin'."  
    I waited and he spat and went on. " 'Nother thing, this was an island, not very big. I figure you could camp there safe. A bear's big as this one would've stayed on the mainland."  
    I put my question slowly. "You're saying there was no bear on that island?"
    He sniffed. "We wasn' there long. I look aroun' a bit but not all over." I waited and he went on, "Only thing it looked like to me, it looked like the tracks was cleared up."  
    "Cleared up?" I felt the old familiar hunting jolt shoot through my arms and clear up to my brain.
    He nodded. "I never seen nothin' like it before, not trappin' It look to me like somebody swep' the trail with a branch, something."
    I whistled. "So there was a guy there, clearing up after the killing."
    He shrugged. I paused to see if he was going to speak but when he didn't I asked him, "Why didn't you tell the chief about this?" I put the question gently. I didn't want to sound aggressive, that would shut him up completely.  
    He picked up another trap silently. I figured he was over quota on words. Probably he hadn't talked so