The snow was drifted deep around the cabin in places, while in others, the ground was blown bare by the wind. I went out to the shed and examined its contents. The hanging deer had not been skinned. That would not be an easy job for our trapper host now that it was frozen. But with care, he had an ample supply of meat there. It had been taken out of season, of course.

The box of margarine had originally held four one-pound chunks. Two were missing. Tim had brought one inside. The trapper must have eaten the other.

I went down to the boat landing at the edge of the lake. From there I could see that the lake widened out in both directions. The far shore seemed to be a mile or so away, while there was no visible end to the right. At the left there was a clump of islands which blocked my view.

The wind was chill, and I tucked my hands inside my jacket.

Tim had been right. There was no sign of a trail. Even with the snow, I should have been able to see the signs of a trail. Our trapper arrived and departed by way of the lake, using a boat until the freeze and an ice sled after.

I wished he would come back. From the way the cabin was stocked, he apparently spent quite a bit of time there, which suggested that he did not like to camp out on the trap line. He would probably have arranged it so that he could cover it in a series of one-day trips from the cabin, which is the way Indian Pete preferred to trap also.

Well, if the storm had caught him at the far end of the line, he would have holed up and might be on his way home this morning. The sky was clear, and although the wind was brisk, it did not throw up any whitecaps on the lake, so rowing would be safe.

“Lizzy! I’m through.”

I went back to the cabin. Tim had made a wet mess on the floor near the stove. I would wait until I had bathed too before mopping up. I sent Tim down for some more water after throwing the lukewarm water he had used out the door. While this new water was heating, I suggested that he explore around the cabin some more, particularly for any signs of a trail. I still had hopes that there might be one, since if there was not and if our host did not return, we would have to wait until the lake froze unless we wanted to start walking through the woods again.

When the water was steaming, I took off my clothes and took a quick bath, scrubbing myself with the cloth and the strong yellow soap until my skin turned pink. I got some in my eyes and the stinging was enough to make me howl.