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Updated: June 22, 2025
Snass would immediately dispatch parties of young men to guard the two trails. But there was another way south. True, it did no more than penetrate half-way into the high mountains, then, twisting to the west and crossing three divides, it joined the regular trail.
"Let us go to the fire and talk. My name is Labiskwee. What is your name?" And so Smoke came to know Labiskwee, the daughter of Snass, whom Snass called Margaret. "Snass is not my father's name," she informed Smoke. "Snass is only an Indian name." Much Smoke learned that day, and in the days that followed, as the hunting-camp moved on in the trail of the caribou.
He was a small, stupid man, afflicted with sore eyes, and all he dreamed or could talk about was getting back to his beloved San Francisco and his blissful trade of bricklaying. "You're the first intelligent man we've had," Snass complimented Smoke one night by the fire. "Except old Four Eyes. The Indians named him so. He wore glasses and was short-sighted. He was a professor of zoology."
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