OFF FOR NEW TRAPPING GROUND
The morning seemed a long one to Jack, and the hide seemed to stick very close to the old bear. As the day advanced, the sun broiled down hotter and hotter, while Jack cut and pulled and sweated over the carcass, and seemed to make very slow progress. Gradually, however, the hide fell away more and more from the flesh, until it only clung to the body under the line of the back. Jack worked as far under the body on either side as he could, and then pushing the carcass over, freed the hide from it almost everywhere, except under the shoulders. Try as he might, he could not lift the body so that he could make the final cuts here. At last, however, it occurred to him to call his horse to his aid, and tying his lariat about the forelegs of the bear, he took a turn of it about the horn of his saddle and started Pawnee away, dragging the carcass a few feet to one side, and then leaving his horse standing there to hold the carcass in position, he went back and with a few more cuts separated the hide from the carcass, and then dragged the latter off the hide. It had been a hard job, and Jack was covered with bear's oil and perspiration, but he felt that it would not do to stop here, so turning the bear's hide flesh side down upon the grass, he went down to where the cub lay. First, however, he looked to see where the balls had gone from the other shots that he had fired at the bear. One of them he found slightly imbedded in the muscles of the foreleg, but there was no trace whatever of the other, which must have been a clean miss. He could hardly believe that a ball from his powerful gun would have stopped and flattened on the muscles of the bear's leg, as he found this one had done, but the evidence was plain there under his eyes.
The work of skinning the little bear was trifling, compared to the labor that he had put on the old one. Its skin was thinner and its fat softer, and it took him only about an hour to get the hide off. When he had done this, he took it up and spread it out by the old one.
He was just about to get on his horse and ride up to the top of the bluff to see whether he could see anything of Hugh, when down in the valley below him he heard a sound of breaking sticks and crushing undergrowth, and a moment later, to his amazement, a little bunch of buffalo broke out of the willows, raced across the valley, plunged into the stream, crossed it, and, with the activity of cats climbed the bluffs and disappeared. There were five of them, two old cows with their calves, and another that looked like a heifer. At no time had they been within easy rifle shot, and as a matter of fact, Jack was so astonished at their appearance that he did not think of shooting. Afterward he was very glad that this had been so, because at that distance he might well enough have wounded an animal which he could not afterward recover. Besides that, they did not need the meat.
Before he had recovered from his astonishment at the appearance of these buffalo, Jack saw Hugh approaching, and he saw that each of the pack horses that followed him had a load, and when he saw it Jack almost groaned at the thought of having to do more skinning. When Hugh had come close, Jack mounted and they rode over to the place where they usually did this work, and on unloading the pack horses it was seen that there were six beaver.
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "it seems to me we're having a little too much luck."
"More than you bargained for, eh, son?" said Hugh with a smile. "Well, it's certainly a fact that everybody in this world has got something to growl about. It's either not enough, or the wrong kind, or sometimes it's too much. Now, suppose I'd told you before we left the ranch that we'd get more beaver than you would feel like skinning; I guess you would have laughed at me a little, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would!" exclaimed Jack. "We've got to learn about all these things by having them happen to us, I suppose. I never would have believed that we could catch more fur than we wanted."
"No," said Hugh, "I reckon not."
"Well, at least," said Jack, "I've got the skin off both these bears."
"So I see," replied Hugh, "and you did mighty well. I didn't suppose you'd have skinned more than one of them; in fact, I didn't feel sure but that the old one would tire you out, and I might have to help you when I got back. You stuck to that job well, son, and I'm glad you did."
It made Jack feel good to have Hugh say that, for he was not much accustomed to speak words of praise.
"Did you have any trouble with your traps, Hugh?" said Jack. "I thought you were gone a long time, but perhaps it was only because I got so tired of what I was doing."
"Well," said Hugh, "it took quite a while to make the rounds and to pick up the traps and get the beaver out, and then one of those traps you set yesterday wasn't very well fixed, and the beaver had pulled up the float-stick and got ashore on a mud bank, and got away, just leaving his paw in the trap. If we were going to stop here and trap for a while, you would see that that would make quite a difference in our trapping. That beaver will warn all the others in his pond, and maybe all the others in other ponds, and they'll be a heap shyer from now on. Then there was one trap that hadn't been sprung. However, we've got six beaver, and it will take us till pretty near night to skin them; so we better start in and not spend any more time in chinwhack."
"Good enough," said Jack; "but I mean bad enough." In a few moments they were hard at work and before they had finished their task the sun had sunk close to the tops of the western mountains. The beaver skins and the traps were packed on one of the horses, and then taking the other pack animal up to the top of the knoll, Hugh tied his coat over his head. They made a bundle of the bears' skins and lashed them on the pack saddle. When they had finished, Hugh said, "Now tie up this rope, son, and let me start on with the other pack horse and you stay behind and watch this fellow. Likely he'll buck when we take the blind off, but after he gets tired he'll follow." Hugh mounted, holding the rope of the other pack horse, and then riding up to windward of the blinded horse, took his coat from its head and rode on. The horse started quietly enough, until a turn in the trail carried to its nostrils the scent of its load. When it realized that the hateful thing that it smelt was on its back it was panic stricken for a while, and began to try to get rid of it by bucking. But after tiring itself out by pitching and by running, first in one direction, and then in another, it followed the other horse toward camp. Jack, who had stayed behind it, had to do some riding from side to side to keep it from running off over the prairie, or up the stream. When they reached camp it was not easy to catch the pack horse, the more so because none of the other horses was willing to go anywhere near it, especially from the leeward side.
"Well," said Jack, after they had finally got the load off and turned the horses loose, "this business of packing green bear hides on horses doesn't seem to be all that it is cracked up to be."
"It's always so," replied Hugh. "No horse likes to pack a bear hide, or rather no horse likes a bear or the smell of a bear. Of course there are some old plugs that will tote 'most anything, but these young horses haven't had experience enough to be willing to pack bears."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, that evening after supper, "we've got a day more to spend here, anyhow, for we've got to dry these hides."
"Yes," replied Hugh, "we've go to do that, of course. We'll do well if we get off the day after to-morrow." A little later Hugh said, "By the way, son, I saw tracks of a little bunch of buffalo down the creek to-day. I knew there were a few down here in these parks, and I thought maybe we might see some of them, but I didn't expect to run on them right here."
"Oh!" exclaimed Jack; "I meant to speak to you about that. I saw five buffalo to-day. They came out of the brush and crossed the creek right below where I was skinning the bear."
"You did, eh?" asked Hugh interestedly. "Were there two calves with them?"
"Yes," said Jack: "two calves and two cows, and I thought a heifer."
"That's the bunch," declared Hugh. "The tracks I saw were right fresh, and there were two calves and two cows and one smaller track. Now, I wonder where they came from. I reckon the fire must have driven them out of the mountains, and they must have crossed over and got into the brush below here, and just been working up the creek, sticking to the timber all the time. You know, these buffalo down here are what mountain men call bison, that is, they're buffalo that live in the timber. There used to be lots of them all through the mountains."
"Are they just like the plains buffalo, Hugh?" asked Jack, "or are they different?"
"Well," said Hugh, "most people say they are different, but I never could see any more difference between them and the plains buffalo than there is between a mountain beaver and, say, a Missouri River beaver. These bison are darker and look to be a little heavier set than the plains buffalo, but I don't think that except for the color there is any great difference, and the difference in color is easily accounted for, because they live in the timber and don't get sunburned as the plains buffalo do, which are always out in the sunlight. Maybe we'll kill one before the trip is over, and then you can look at it and compare it in your mind with the buffalo you've seen on the prairie. I'd like to know what you think about it yourself."
The next day immediately after breakfast Hugh and Jack stretched the bear hide, and while Hugh went over it with a dull knife and scraped from it all the fat that he could, Jack busied himself in stretching the beaver hides and hanging them up to dry in the shade. This work occupied them both till noon, and after dinner they sat about and rested, for now they had been hard at work for a number of days.
"I reckon, son," said Hugh, "that we'll not make a very long march to-morrow. We can't do anything toward packing our fur until morning, and likely enough we won't get started until about noon. Then, however, we can make a march that will at least take us to another creek. I've half an idea that the best place for us to go now is back to the Platte, and perhaps, from there to the Michigan."
"What's the Michigan, Hugh—a place or a stream?"
"It's a creek," said Hugh, "and a good-sized one, that comes down out of the mountains from the east. There are some beaver on it. Maybe you'd like to stop there and trap."
"I don't know," said Jack; "but I've an idea that I've had trapping enough to last me for two or three days. Maybe I'll look at it differently, though, when we get on the Michigan."
The next morning Hugh looked at the bear hide and declared that he believed that by noon it would be set sufficiently so that they could take it up and pack it and move on, and that the last of the beaver hides could be handled in the same way. During the morning they took the beaver pelts that were already dry and folding them once made a pack of them, which, when tightly lashed, they covered with gunny sacking. These, with the first bear hide, were to make a top pack for one of the animals.
About the middle of the day the pins which held the bears' hides were pulled up, the hides folded over, and after the beaver pelts had been taken from the hoops and each one folded once, these were put together to make a second pack, which also was to go on top of a load. The hides were not dry, but could be spread out again at the next camp.
The morning had been dull and lowering and by the time their packs were made up and dinner eaten, a heavy mist was creeping down the mountainside toward the valley. Jack brought in the horses and saddled them all, and the work of packing was soon accomplished. By the time the little train was in motion a heavy mist was upon them, which sometimes was almost a rain.
To one who is used to travel on the plains or the mountains it makes but little difference whether the march is through rain or sunshine. If it rains, the traveler protects himself as well as possible, and goes on his way as cheerfully as he can, consoled by a certain philosophy which may be only habit, or may be a disregard for discomfort which he knows is but temporary. If the sun is clear and bright, on the other hand, he is still more cheerful; but under no circumstances are his spirits greatly lowered. Men who have not had experience in life out of doors are likely to be depressed by a march through rain. One becomes more or less wet, and it seems hard not to have a house to go into to dry one's self. Tents have to be pitched on wet grounds, blankets are damp, meals must be cooked in the rain and are likely to be cold and wet, so that for one who is not used to outdoor life a rainy day is a real misfortune.
On the open prairie a low hanging mist makes objects at a distance look like something quite different from what they are. Antelope seen through fog appear as large as horses, and a coyote may be taken for a gray wolf. If the fog is confusing to the human being who rides through it, it is, sometimes, not less so to the game. Even the keen eyes of the antelope are sometimes deceived at such a time.
Jack was just riding over a low ridge behind the pack horses when over another ridge close at hand appeared two antelope cantering briskly toward him. They did not see him until they had come within a hundred yards, and then instead of turning and running away, they put on a burst of speed and ran directly in front of him, passing between himself and the last pack horse, and not more than thirty steps from him. Just as they were about to pass in front of him, Jack shouted at them and one of the two turned and ran directly toward him, crossing before his horse so close that it almost seemed as if the horse would run over it. Again Jack shouted just as the antelope was in front of him and the animal turned sharp to the right, and darted by him, going like the wind. If his rope had been free Jack could have easily caught the antelope, or if his gun had been in his hand he could have touched it with the barrel.
Hugh did not loiter on the ride, but kept his horse going at a little jog-trot, and generally Jack kept the pack horses close behind him. By the middle of the afternoon the rain had ceased and the fog lifted, and when they rode down among the willows at the bottom of the Platte they were warm and dry again. The valley was plentifully dotted with feeding antelope. After a camp had been made Jack asked Hugh if it would not be well to kill something, for the last of the fresh meat had been consumed that morning, and unless something was killed they would have to eat bacon to-night.
Hugh agreed that meat was needed, and as soon as the horses had been attended to and the tent put up, he advised Jack to go off and get a buck, saying that he himself would attend to the hides and spread them out to dry for the few hours of daylight that still remained.
Down below the camp there was a large group of antelope which were widely scattered out, so that the prospect of getting within range was not very good, but after a little careful maneuvering Jack found himself on the creek bottom with about thirty yards of level grass land to cross before he could reach the willows, under cover of which the herd might be approached. A single old doe was staring at him very intently, and he wished to wait until she should move out of sight. The other animals, however, were already beginning to feed toward the bluffs, and after waiting for a few moments he saw that if he was to get a shot he could delay no longer. He dropped on his hands and knees, therefore, and crept through the grass toward the willows. He was in plain sight of the doe, which continued to look at him, and he could only hope that she might take him for some animal feeding in the bottom. There were numbers of cattle along the creek, and it was altogether possible that the antelope might take him for a cow or a calf. What he had hoped for happened, and before he had reached the willows he saw that the old doe was feeding once more. He crept carefully through the willows and got up close to a big buck, and feeling absolutely sure of it, threw up his gun to his shoulder and fired, making a clean miss, shooting well over the antelope. He was much mortified at his failure, so much so that he returned to camp depressed in spirit, and when Hugh asked him where his meat was he replied only by the Indian sign for "all gone," and did not speak until supper was ready.
After the dishes were washed up and they were sitting by the fire taking the comfort that follows a day's travel, Jack burst out, "Say, Hugh, I don't suppose you ever make a perfect fool of yourself; but did you ever do so when you were a young man?"
"Why, yes, lots of times, I expect, son," said Hugh. "What do you mean?"
"Why," said Jack, "this afternoon I crawled up within fifty yards of a big fat buck and had a standing broadside shot at him, and I thought the work was all done, except carrying in the meat, and when I shot at him the ball must have gone four or five inches above his back."
"How?" said Hugh. "I reckon I know how it was. You were so sure of him that you didn't take the trouble to sight your gun."
"Yes," said Jack; "I guess that's just about what happened. I never had any question but that I would kill him, and I suppose I was so sure I forgot to look at my sights."
"Well," said Hugh, "I guess that has happened to all of us at one time or another, but after it's happened a few times, we get to understand that you can't hit things with a rifle ball unless you shoot straight every time."
"My! I felt cheap when I missed," said Jack. "It was not so much that I should have to come and tell you what a stupid thing I had done, but it was the change from being so sure and so confident that I had what I wanted, to seeing it slip through my fingers and skip off."
"Well," said Hugh, "I was astonished to hear your shot and then see you come into camp without anything, because, of course, I know as well as you do that usually you shoot pretty carefully, and you've been mighty lucky in your hunting. I sort o' fixed my palate for some fried antelope liver to-night, and it seemed like quite a drop to come down to bacon."
"Well, the next shot I fire," declared Jack, "you bet I'll take care and try to send the ball where it belongs. I don't want to have this thing repeated."
"Well," replied Hugh, "if you are going to shoot a rifle you've got to give it your attention first, last, and all the time. You never can be sure of hitting anything unless you keep your mind fixed on what you're doing. A careless man is neither a good hunter nor a good rifle shot."
"Well," said Jack, "you bet I'm going to remember that after this."
During the afternoon Hugh had spread out the green hides in his bundle and given them an opportunity to dry a little more, and then had repacked them, so that bright and early the next morning they were on their way again. Soon after noon they reached the crossing of the Michigan, and on the way there Jack got a shot at a fine buck antelope and killed it, and put the hams and sirloins on his horse. They made a pleasant camp in a grassy bottom of the Michigan, and after eating, Jack set out to walk a little distance down the creek in search of adventure.
While strolling along the bluffs overlooking the narrow river bottom, he came upon a little slough in and near which was several sorts of water birds. Of these the most interesting was a family of green-winged teal, an old mother, followed by eight tiny young. As soon as the old bird saw Jack she swam to the margin of the pool and ran off into the grass with the eight little ones strung out in a line and pattering over the mud behind her. The scene was a pretty one, and much as Jack would have enjoyed seeing one of the little fellows closer at hand, he did not go near the grass which she had entered, to disturb the small family. A little further down the river in a quiet pool he saw, a hundred yards below him, a duck swimming about in plain sight. Making a little round back from the water, so as to get out of sight of it, he crept up and tried to see the bird in order to find out what it was, but it had disappeared. Going on down the river, he happened to look back and he saw in the same place what seemed to be the same duck doing the same things. Again he went away from the water and returned to the place, and tried to see the bird, but again it disappeared. Jack wondered if it might not be one of the medicine birds about which the Indians had talked, a spirit which took the form of a bird and then, perhaps, changed into some other object of the landscape.
It was not nearly supper time when he returned to camp. He found that Hugh had spent the afternoon busying himself about the hides, and that these, except the bear's skin, were by this time all dried. Hugh declared that there was no reason now why they might not go on and make a full day's march, because the bear hide could finish drying at any time.
"If we're going into the mountains, son," said Hugh, "there is a good road into them not far from here. I don't know what game we'll find. Very likely nothing, except a few deer, or possibly, if we get up high enough, a sheep or two, but anyhow I mind that it's a pretty country on the Michigan, and we might as well go up there as anywhere else."
"I would like to do it, Hugh, and if you say so, we will."
"Let it be so," said Hugh. "Now, son," he continued, "down here in the park is one of the greatest summer ranges for antelope that ever was, but we've got meat enough to do us for a few days, now, and unless you see something extraordinary in the way of a head, it seems to me I wouldn't bother with these antelope."
"No," said Jack, "I don't think it's worth while to, and I don't mean to. The only reason for shooting at them now would be to see whether I could hit them, and if I want to find out about that I can stick a chip up against a tree and shoot at it."
"That's right," said Hugh. "Of course, if you need an animal, kill it, but don't kill it just to gratify your curiosity or your love for hitting things."
After an early start next morning a hunter's trail was followed up toward the mountains. The way led through dense pine forests alternating with pretty, park-like openings, and some miles nearer to the main range they camped by some little springs. As Hugh had said, the antelope here were extremely abundant and very tame. In the timber there were many signs of deer, occasionally a snowshoe rabbit was seen, and more than one brood of blue grouse was startled from its feeding ground among the low brush. The young were about the size of quail, and after being flushed the first time lay very hard. Jack amused himself several times by getting off and walking in the direction which the birds had taken, and then finding them, one after another, crouched close to the ground, looking almost like so many stones or sticks and permitting him to come quite near to them before again taking wing.
The timber on the Michigan was burning in several places, but the rains of the past few days had for the most part extinguished the flames. Now only a few smoldering logs sent up their pillars of smoke through the still, clear air. In some places the fire had run down the mountains out onto the plain, burning the sage brush and sometimes even crossing the creek bottom, killing the willows which everywhere grew very thickly. In one place, as Jack was riding down the bluffs into the brush, a large bob-cat or bay lynx ran out from the bushes, stopped and stared at him when it saw him, but before he could draw his rifle from the scabbard it bounded back into the willows and was not seen again.
They had some trouble in crossing the Michigan where it came out from the mountains. The bottom was wide and level, and was full of old beaver meadows and ditches. Everywhere it was so thickly overgrown with willows that it was with difficulty that the horses could be forced through them. At every few steps they came upon mud holes, beaver sloughs, and other evidences of old beaver ponds, and it was necessary to wind about to avoid these obstacles. There are few things more troublesome and even dangerous than to ride through an old beaver meadow, for if one's horse gets fairly mired in a beaver slough it may be very difficult to get him out again.
Hugh and Jack spent more than two hours in crossing from one bank to the other, though the distance was only about half a mile.
A little beyond this they went into camp, but just before passing into the little park where they were to camp, Hugh stopped his horse and said to Jack: "There's a queer looking antelope; ride on ahead, son, and see if you can't kill it."
As he reached the edge of the little park, Jack stopped in the fringe of timber and looking through, saw a half a dozen antelope scattered about feeding. The head of one of the bucks that was nearest to him had an odd appearance, and even looked as if it had two sets of horns. It was a good-sized animal, and Jack slipped from his horse, and creeping out to the edge of the timber, where he had a clear, open sight, raised his rifle to shoot. The motion caught the buck's eye and he turned about and stood facing Jack, looking at him. Jack drew a careful sight and fired, and the antelope reared up straight on his hind legs and then fell over backward. Jack reloaded, and going back, mounted and rode out to the buck, which he found dead, the ball having passed lengthwise through the body. The curious appearance of the animal's head was explained as soon as he reached it, for this buck actually had four horns; the two usual ones, and, growing from the skin behind each one, at a distance of a couple of inches from the horns, were two other stout, black horns about three inches long and an inch thick. These were not attached to the skull, but were mere outgrowths from the skin and moved about with the skin when it was moved.
Jack had seen nothing like this before, and he was very much surprised at it. While he was preparing the antelope to take into camp, Hugh and the animals came along and passed him, stopping at the edge of the stream not more than a hundred yards from where he was skinning the antelope. Jack stripped the hide from the beast, and, cutting off the skin of the neck low down at the breast and shoulders, placed the carcass across his saddle, and carrying the head in his hand, walked into camp.
The horses were already unpacked and feeding about, dragging their ropes, and Hugh had started his fire and brought the water. It took but a short time to put up the tent, and then to picket the horses.
"I want to tie up the horses for the present, son," said Hugh, "because here in the timber it's pretty easy for us to lose them. They may wander off only a short distance, but if they keep quiet in the brush or timber it may take us a long time to find them. It's different down on the open prairie, where you can see a long way." Each horse, therefore, was tied up, either made fast to a picket pin driven firmly in the ground, or to some stout tuft of sage brush.
After supper Jack brought out his antelope head and asked Hugh about it.
"Yes," said Hugh, "I've seen antelope like this before, but I don't know that I can explain to you why this fellow has these extra horns. I reckon they're something like the horns you'll often see on a doe antelope. Some does—maybe most of them—have no horns at all, but others will have a little knob of horn, perhaps not more than half an inch long, just sort o' capping the little bunch on each side of the head that corresponds with the big bony cores of the buck antelope's head; and others may have right long horns, maybe four or six inches long, with a little sign of a prong on the horn, but I've never seen a doe's horns that were firm on the skull and that had a bony core inside them as a buck's horns always have. The doe's horns always seem to just grow on the skin like these extra horns on this head. I have often seen buck antelope that had little, hard, black bunches looking just like the stuff the horns are made of, growing on the skin of the head somewhere near the horns, but I don't know what it means, no more than I know what it means when a rabbit has a horn or a pair of horns."
"What do you mean, Hugh?" said Jack. "Do rabbits ever have horns? I never heard of anything like that."
"Oh, yes," said Hugh; "sometimes they have horns, but I don't know why, nor do I know what the horns mean. I've had rabbits with horns, both jackrabbits and cottontails, shown to me a good many times."
"What!" said Jack; "real horns, you mean, growing out of the head like an antelope's horns or a cow's horns?"
"Well, yes, and no," said Hugh. "The horns look like real horns, that is to say, they seem to be made of horny matter, but they don't always grow on the head. Sometimes they grow on the neck, sometimes in the forehead. I've heard of cases where there were four or five growing on different parts of the animal's body. I never saw more than two on one animal, one of them grew out of the top of his head and another from the side of his neck."
"Well," said Jack, "that beats me entirely."
"This whole business of horns," said Hugh, "is something that, as I say, I don't understand. Now, of course, we know that a deer sheds his horns every spring or winter, and that an antelope sheds his horns every autumn, but, of course, the way an antelope sheds his horn is very different from the way a deer sheds his, just as an antelope horn is different from a deer's horn. I was talking about this with your uncle one time and he told me that the antelope was the only animal that had a bony core to the horn that regularly shed the horn, but, as I say, the antelope don't shed his whole horn, like the deer; the sheath that covers the horn core just slips off. When it slips off you find the core of the horn covered with skin and all over this skin grow long, white hairs, except at the very top, where there's a little black knob of horn. After the sheath has been shed, the skin and the white hairs covering it seem gradually to turn into the black horn, the change traveling down from the tip of the horn to the animal's head. Often at the base of the horn you can see where the hairs of the head join the horn and seem to be mixed up with it. In other words, there's a place where the horn sheath is part horn sheath and part antelope skin and hair. Your uncle once told me that hair, horns, hoofs, scales, nails, claws, and feathers were all different forms of the same thing, and it seems to me that in the antelope's horn sheath and the way it changes from the time the old sheath is shed until the new sheath is formed we can see hair changing into horn."
"Of course, it's easy to see," said Jack, "that horn and nails and hoofs are the same thing; they are just the same substance put on different parts of the body. I can understand, too, how feathers are the same, because we can look at the quill of a feather and see that that isn't very different from the fingernail or the claw of a small animal, but scales seem to me a little different."
"Well, I don't know," said Hugh. "You take the scales of a beaver or a muskrat tail, and in places they're all mixed up with the hair, and the hair seems gradually to change into scales. Look at a beaver's foot and you'll see the same thing going on. Anyway, I guess if your uncle said that was so, it is so, for I don't think he's the kind of a man to talk positively about things that he doesn't know of."
"No, indeed, he isn't, Hugh, and he knows a whole lot, and yet, you'd never find it out unless you get talking to him and asking him questions about things."
"That's so," said Hugh. "He's a mighty quiet man, but he knows a heap."
TRAPPING THE MINK
The next morning it was full daylight before the camp was astir, and the sun had risen before breakfast was over. Jack had brought in the horses and put the saddles on them, and they stood tied to the brush waiting for their loads.
Neither Jack nor Hugh seemed to be in a hurry, and after the packs had been pretty well made up, Hugh said, "Now, son, let us cut up this antelope and throw away the bones that we don't need and put the meat in a couple of sacks. No use to pack anything more than we have to, even if the horses are lightly loaded."
Accordingly they set to work and very soon had the meat stripped from the antelope's bones, cut into pieces of convenient size, and put in the sacks. The night had been cool and the meat had become chilled all through. While they were at work, the gray jays gathered about them in considerable numbers, hopping up within a few feet of them, and sometimes flying down close over the carcass. Occasionally Hugh and Jack would cut off a little piece of waste meat and throw it to one side, when it was instantly pounced upon by a bird and carried off. The fortunate one would be followed by half a dozen of his fellows, which would try to snatch his prize from him. So fearless were the birds that Jack took great pleasure in watching them and in throwing bits of food to them.
"You don't have the name of Whiskey Jack for these birds out here, do you, Hugh?" said Jack. "I have never heard it."
"No," said Hugh; "I've heard the Indians away up north call them by a name that sounds something like that, but I reckon it's not the same name. The one I have heard is an Indian word—'Wis-kaysh-on.' Maybe the word you are talking of is only another way of pronouncing it. Out here we call them meat hawks and camp robbers. They're so cheeky that I always rather liked them, but they're a mean bird in winter, especially if a man is trapping marten; they will spring his traps, steal his bait, and maybe tear his pelts, but they are nowhere near as bad as the magpies, or even as the blue jays. It always amuses me to see how, after they have eaten what they want to, they will pack off all the food they can get and cache it in the trees, in the crevices in the bark, and in the moss that grows on the limbs. They are great fellows to hide things. Look at that one there," he went on, pointing, and Jack saw a jay picking up shred after shred of meat that had been thrown out, and noticed that the bird, instead of swallowing it, seemed to hold it in its throat. Presently it flew up into the branches of the pine tree, and after moving about a little, went to a bunch of the gray moss, and, after seeming to make a hole in it with its bill, deposited there the contents of its mouth and throat, and then flew back and began to gather more meat.
"Well," said Jack, "what do you suppose they do that for? Do they store up food in that way and go back to it when they are hungry?"
"You can't prove it by me," said Hugh. "I've an idea that they're just natural thieves and misers, and love to steal and hide things."
The work of loading the animals was soon finished, and they set out up the stream. The trail which they followed was a faint one and kept on the hillside on the north bank of the stream, always through heavy pine forests. There was little underbrush. The ground under foot was soft; the air was fragrant with odors of spruce, pine, and balsam, and with the perfume of the many wild flowers that brightened the gloom of the dense woods with vivid colors of red, blue, and yellow. As they advanced, it was evident the snow had not been very long gone; the ground became more and more damp, little rills that trickled down the hillsides were full of water, and occasionally when an open spot in the timber gave them a view of the peaks toward which they were journeying they could see that they were still snowclad. Occasionally Hugh started a brown pine rabbit which hopped away from the trail far enough to avoid the horse's feet, and sat up on his haunches with his huge ears erect, watching the procession that passed before him with an air of meditation. Pine squirrels were everywhere, and their chattering was heard almost continually. Another familiar sound of the mountains was the shrill whistle of the mountain woodchuck, called from its cry, "whistler." It could not have been so very long since these animals came out from their winter homes, but they were now abroad and in full voice, and each one as he saw the train, or indeed as he saw any other unusual object, gave vent to his shrill cry. Altogether, the day's journey, while it lacked any especial incident, was one of very great pleasure to Jack.
Late in the afternoon they camped in a beautiful opening surrounded by giant spruces and firs, where rich grass stood waist high, and the steep sides of the mountains rose sharply from the narrow valley.
After camp had been made and supper eaten, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son. I'm going up the creek a little way to see if I can see any sign of beaver or other fur. What are you going to do?"
"Well," said Jack, "I don't know; I think I'll go up this little valley through which this side creek comes and see whether I can see anything there."
"All right," said Hugh; "we'll get back here, then, before dark;" and they started on their different ways.
Hugh went slowly up the stream and before he had gone very far came to a place where the valley widened out and there were meadows on either side of the stream. Here was beaver work, and fresh. A dam across the stream held back the water until it was several feet deep, making a pond that was long and narrow, but not high enough to flood the meadows. Along the banks were willows on which the beaver had been working lately, and many freshly cut twigs and barked sticks were floating in the water. Hugh saw no beaver, but found abundant signs of them, and made up his mind that it would be well for them to stop here and trap for a day or two. There were mink sign along the stream, and at its head he saw fresh elk tracks, those of cows and calves. Going quietly through undergrowth he came at length to a place where the trees stood apart, and here suddenly he saw three cow elk, which a moment later saw him and crashed off through the trees, but at which he did not shoot.
Jack, on his part, had followed up the still narrower valley of the side stream. The mountains rose steeply on either hand, and to walk with any comfort he was obliged to keep either in the bed of the creek or close to it. On little sand bars by the stream he saw many tracks of small animals which he thought might be mink, and in one place where there was a deep pool he came upon what he believed to be the slide of an otter.
All along the stream dippers were feeding, the curious little slate-colored birds with which he had been so familiar in other parts of the mountains. Here they were as active as he had always seen them, flying up or down the stream or diving in the water or walking briskly about on the rocks, or, if for a moment they stayed in one place, making the curious bobbing or dipping movement from which, perhaps, the name dipper has been given them. They were singing now with a sweet, clear note that reminded Jack somewhat of the robin's song.
From time to time Jack stopped to watch these little friends, and then went on. He moved as quietly as he could, and for the most part the babble of the stream drowned the slight noises that he made, but, as bad luck would have it, as he was rounding a point of the stream and had to make a long spring to cross the water, he caught an alder stem on the other side, and it came away in his hand with a sharp crack. Instantly there was a crash in the brush just above him on the stream, and as he turned his head he saw a good-sized bear plunge across the stream and disappear into the undergrowth. He had no time to whirl around, and still less to throw his gun to his shoulder, and yet he wanted to shoot. He ran twenty or thirty steps up the hillside as hard as he could to a little open place from which he thought he might possibly see the game, but nothing was visible save the undergrowth and the trees, and he was reluctantly obliged to come down the slope without seeing the bear. What made him feel the worse about it was that he felt that it was his own carelessness that had made the noise that had startled the bear. If he had kept on in his silent, stealthy way he might have had the shot.
Very much disgusted and disappointed, he turned about and went down the valley again, reaching camp just as Hugh got there.
"Well, son, what luck?" said Hugh.
"Bad," replied Jack. "I got quite close to a bear, and, not expecting any game, I made a little noise and he dodged off, giving me only a glimpse, at which I didn't have time to fire."
"That's bad," said Hugh. "A man always feels worse if he knows that it was through some carelessness of his own that he missed a chance."
"Yes," said Jack, "that's what I was thinking only a little while ago. If I had done my best, and the wind had changed, or something had frightened the bear, I wouldn't mind it so much. What did you see, Hugh?"
"Well," said Hugh, "I found some beaver, and I saw a little bunch of cow elk. I expect there are calves hidden in the valley just above us, but they don't interest us much."
"No," said Jack, "we don't need any calf elk, certainly."
"I think, son," said Hugh, "we'd better stop here for a day or so and set some traps. We may get a few beaver, and there are some mink here, too."
"All right," said Jack; "I'll go you; but we haven't time to set the traps to-night, have we?"
"No," said Hugh, "we'll have to wait until to-morrow for that, but I'll tell you what we can do. We can start in to rigging our dead-falls for mink to-night. It'll take us some little time to fix them. We ought to have at least a half a dozen of them scattered up and down the creek here."
"Well," said Jack, "what do you want me to do? I'm ready for anything."
"Get the ax," said Hugh, "and we'll go up on the hillside and cut down some of these small, dead pines and get them ready for work to-morrow."
The two went up on the hill, and Hugh soon cut down a dozen slim, dead, young pines, not much thicker than his wrist at the butt, and trimmed the branches off. Jack taking a part of them on his shoulders and Hugh following with the rest, they carried them down to camp.
Here the butts of the trees were carefully trimmed and smoothed so that they were well rounded. Half a dozen smooth, round sticks nearly as thick as the butts of the pine trees and about fifteen inches long were cut out for bed-sticks, and then a considerable number of sharp-pointed, stout sticks prepared. Then—for by this time it had become dark—Hugh explained to Jack at some length how these traps were to be set. "You see, son," he said; "as I have told you before, a mink is a pretty simple-minded creature. He hasn't much sense or keenness, and probably these mink here have never been trapped. We have got to rig the bait in these dead-falls so that a mink will come at it from the right end, and so that the log will fall on him and kill him. Now, we drive these sharp-pointed sticks into the ground, close together, in the shape of a V. The only way the mink can get in is to go through the open part of the V. Just inside of that open part we put down the bed-stick and on both arms of the V we leave out a stick or two so that the bed-stick goes through these open spaces, and it's down through these open spaces that the fall-log comes—in fact the sticks on either side of the open spaces are guides so that it falls square on the bed-log. The fall-log must be heavy enough so that it will come down hard and kill the mink at once. The bait is put on the end of a smooth spindle which supports the trigger-stick. When the animal passes in and pulls at the bait, he jerks out the spindle, the trigger-stick falls out of place and lets the fall-log down. The fall-log comes down onto the bed-log, and if the mink's there he's bound to be crushed flat. The success of the trap depends altogether on the speed with which the fall-log comes down. If it does not drop quickly the mink has time to see it coming and to get away. I reckon we'll have to use beaver medicine for bait for these traps; maybe put a little of it on some antelope meat or on some frogs if we can catch any."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "I expect this is all right about the dead-falls, but I don't know as I understand just exactly how it's to be set, but I reckon if you will show me to-morrow I'll do what I can to help."
"Well, it's mighty simple," said Hugh, "and just as soon as you've seen it done once, you'll know how to do it. Now, we've got to fix some spindles and some trigger-sticks to-night, and I'm going to make one of each now, and after you've seen me do it you can take hold and make some yourself."
Hugh took out his jack-knife and began to whittle, and before long he had made a slender stick shaped not unlike a lead pencil and about eight inches long. It was round and smooth. Then taking a much thicker stick, one perhaps an inch in diameter, he smoothed this off, removing all bark, twigs, and inequalities, making it as nearly round as possible and pointing it bluntly at both ends. Then he took a bed-stick, put it on the ground between his feet, and laying the butt of the spindle upon it and at right angles to it, he placed upon the butt of the spindle the trigger-stick, and pressed it down on the spindle with his left hand. Then giving the spindle a little pull toward the bed-stick it slipped out from under the trigger-stick and the trigger-stick fell over. "There, son," he said, "do you see the philosophy of it now? Suppose my hand had been a heavy log and that it had fallen across the body of a mink, wouldn't it have killed him?"
"Yes, that's so, Hugh," Jack replied. "I think I begin to see now how the thing will work."
For an hour or two after dark Jack and Hugh whittled faithfully and by that time they had prepared a dozen spindles and as many trigger-sticks, and Hugh said that the first thing in the morning they would set a lot of mink traps along both streams.
After the work was done, they sat dreamily before the fire, Hugh smoking vigorously, and Jack saying and doing nothing, but just giving himself up to the charm of his surroundings.
There is a great delight in a camp among the green timber. The fragrant needles of the evergreens spread thick upon the ground form a soft, dry couch, which would woo sleep to any traveler. A great fire of resinous logs sends up spouts of flame which almost reach the tufted twigs of the great firs that overhang the camp, while clouds of black smoke, and sometimes showers of sparks wind in and out among the branches. The yellow and brown trunks of the trees flicker in the changeful glow of the red light and send queer shadows out behind them into the depths of the timber. Just at the edge of the circle of light are seen the shadowy and uncertain forms of some of the horses which have ceased feeding and have moved closer to the camp to share the cheery sociability of the fire.
Soon after darkness fell in the valley it grew colder, and both Jack and Hugh drew closer to the fire, and before very long both sought the warmth of their blankets.
The morning sun peeping over the snowy tops of the neighboring mountains found Jack and Hugh eating their breakfast and almost ready to start out on their trapping expedition. Soon after they had finished eating, Hugh hung his bottle of beaver medicine about his neck, filled his pockets and those of Jack with trigger-sticks and spindles, and then with half a dozen of the fall-logs under his arm and a bundle of bed-sticks on his back, he started down the stream, followed by Jack, similarly loaded. Hugh pointed out to Jack places along the stream where mink had passed, and before the morning was half gone they had set twelve falls, eight on the main stream and four on the little creek that Jack had followed up the day before.
Hugh set the traps in the way he had explained the night before. He drove the sharpened sticks into the ground near the border of the creek, sometimes up above in the grass, and at others down at the very margin of the water. When his V was about a foot long he left an opening two inches wide in each arm, and then in each arm drove three or four more sticks close together. On the ground and passing through the openings in the arms he placed the bed-stick, setting it well into the soil so that its top was nearly level with the ground. Sometimes he had to dig out a place for the bed-stick and at others he could pound it down to the proper level. Now he placed the fall-log, which passed through both openings in the arms, on top of the bed-stick and then put a spindle and a trigger-stick on the ground by them. Now he tied a stone, if he could find a good one, to the thicker end of the fall-log, or if he could not find a stone, he got three or four slender tree trunks which he rested on the butt of the fall-log at right angles to it.
Meantime he had sent Jack off down the creek to look for frogs, and presently Jack returned with a dozen that he had killed with a stick. Hugh now impaled one of the dead frogs on the pointed end of a spindle, which was notched so that the bait could not be pulled either way. Then with a willow twig he dropped a little of the beaver medicine on the frog, and then telling Jack to raise the fall-log, he placed the butt of the spindle on the bed-log, one end of the trigger-stick on the spindle, and then told Jack to very carefully lower the fall-log until it rested on the trigger-stick. Before this, with his knife he had smoothed away the sides of the fall-log where it passed between the upright sticks in both arms of the V, and had smoothed off the sticks between which the fall-log passed and which were to serve as the guides to the fall-log, which would meet the bed-stick with an even blow.
"There," said Hugh, as he very carefully removed his hands from the spindle and trigger-stick, "that ought to catch a mink if he'll only come and give a tug at that bait."
"Yes," said Jack, "I think it ought. It seems to me there's a good deal more science and pleasure in setting a trap of that kind than there is in just spreading the jaws of a beaver trap."
"Maybe you're right, son," said Hugh, standing back and looking at his trap. "It does look fairly ship-shape, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said Jack, "that looks to me like something that had some science and style about it."
The greater part of the day was devoted to setting these traps, but toward evening Jack and Hugh put on their rubber boots and walked off up to the beaver pond, where four traps were set. After they had finished this, Hugh said, "Son, I believe we might as well go down and look at those mink traps of ours. If anything has been caught we want to take it out and reset. Just as like as not we'll find something."
Jack was eager to learn the result of their morning efforts and wanted to press ahead of Hugh, but did not do so until they had almost reached the first of the dead-falls. Then he ran ahead a few steps, stopping and calling back to Hugh, "That first trap is sprung." When they got up to it they could see a pair of brown hips and a tail sticking out from under the fall-log, and lifting it, a good dark mink was found there, caught just as he should have been.
The next two traps yielded nothing; the fourth another mink; the last two on the main stream were empty, but the four set on the little side creek had each a mink.
They reset all of their traps and returning to camp began to skin the mink, which Hugh explained must not be skinned open, but must be cased.
"Oh, yes, Hugh, I know what you mean," said Jack. "You split them between the hind legs and then turn the skins inside out. You don't split them along the belly."
"That's right," said Hugh, "and then you've got to have stretchers to dry them on. Of course, what we ought to have is boards, but I guess we'll have to do with willow twigs. They don't make quite so nice looking a skin, but they'll serve our purpose, I guess. You may think, son," he went on, "that skinning mink is worse than skinning beaver. These little fellows can smell fearful bad if you're careless about skinning them and cut into these glands that lie near the tail. Be careful not to do that. If you do you won't get rid of the smell in a long time. Watch me skin this first one and then you can go ahead for yourself. You won't lose anything by watching me do it."
The sun had disappeared over the mountains before they had stripped the pelts off their mink, and it was dusk by the time they had eaten supper.
"Now," said Hugh, "we ought to have finished this job up before supper, but I wanted to cook by daylight. Suppose you go over to that bunch of willows there and cut me a dozen straight and pretty stiff willow shoots, then bring them back here."
Jack went over as directed, and in a little while returned with the shoots.
"It was pretty dark, Hugh," he said, "and I had to do it all by feeling. I don't know whether these are what you want." Hugh took the twigs in his hand and looked them over, and after discarding two or three said, "These are all right. Now let's strip the leaves and twigs off them and make them as smooth as we can. It is not necessary to take off the bark."
When the twigs had been stripped off, Hugh showed Jack how to gradually bend them so that the two ends of the bent twig came together in the shape of a very long and flattened O. He took one of the mink skins—all of which were, of course, wrong side out—and slipped the middle of the doubled twig into the opening in the skin, slowly pushing it down toward the animal's head. The opening of the mouth was too small for the doubled twig to pass through, and the spring of the bent twig kept the sides of the pelt pushed out and stretched. This operation was repeated with each of the skins, and to overcome any shrinking of the pelt, Hugh cut a number of short sticks which he forced between the two ends of each twig which projected from the skin where the hind legs of the mink had been.
The operations had taken but a short time, and when they were over Hugh bundled the skins together and placed them just within the tent. "There," he said, "now, to-morrow morning we'll hang those out where the air will get at them, and before night they will be dry."
They were sitting by the fire, saying but little, when suddenly Hugh, who for some moments had been staring into the darkness in the direction of the horses, leaned over and held his ear near to the ground as if listening.
"What is it, Hugh?" asked Jack.
"Why," said Hugh, "there's some people coming. Put your ear to the ground and listen."
Jack did so, and could hear faintly the tread of something on the ground. "Yes, I hear it," he said. "Are those horses coming?"
"Sure," said Hugh, "I've been watching Pawnee and that black of mine for quite a little while, and I knew that they heard or smelt something. They've been looking off down the creek for some minutes. I reckon this is a party of travelers, and they'll either come here or camp just below us to-night."
As they sat there, presently the tramp of horses began to be heard and occasionally a call from some man shouting at the animals, and after a little while the people could be heard talking and making remarks about the camp that they saw just ahead of them. A few moments later the horses seemed to come to a standstill, and a man rode up to the circle of the fire and said, "Good-evening."
"Good-evening," said Hugh, "won't you light down and sit?"
"Thank you," said the stranger; "we've got our pack train just here, and we would like to camp by you, if you have no objection."
"Not the least in the world," said Hugh. "The bottom is free to anybody that wants to camp here, and we would like to have you stop. Is there anything we can do for you?"
"It's a little dark to find a good camping place, but the wood and water are handy, and I guess our animals will find the grass. Good-evening"; and he rode away.
After the horse's footsteps had died away, Hugh turned to Jack and said: "Englishmen, I reckon. Likely out here hunting. We'll know more about them in the morning."
"Well," said Jack, "I hope they won't interfere with any of our traps."
"No, I guess not," said Hugh. "The worst they could do would be to blunder into them, and I don't believe they'll do that."
A little later another fire shone out in the little park and lit up another tent not far from theirs. Still later, they received another call from their new neighbors, who turned out to be an Englishman and his son, a boy about Jack's age, and a packer, a young man from one of the little towns in the mountains west of Denver. The Englishman was a very pleasant-spoken man, greatly interested in the country and all that it contained. His son sat down by Jack, and for a time the two listened to the conversation of their elders, but gradually the English boy's curiosity overcame his shyness and he began to talk to Jack, and ask him questions about the mountains and the hunting. The packer sat by the fire and said little for a time, only occasionally volunteering a remark, but at last he said to Hugh: "Partner, I'd like to have you tell me where we are. I've never been in this part of the country before, and don't claim to know anything about it, but I know east and west and north and south when the sun is shining. Mr. Clifford here hired me to pack for him, not to guide, because I told him that I wasn't a guide in a strange country. He wants to get back to the other side of the mountains, and I told him that I thought maybe if we followed up this creek we'd find a pass over onto the head of one of the streams running the other way. Can you tell me if we'll do that, because unless we do we better get back down onto the flat and hunt some other way across the mountains?"
"Yes," said Hugh, "you can get across this way. This creek is called the Michigan, and if you follow it up you'll come to a pass that will take you onto the head of the Grand River. Of course, now you're on the east side of the main range, that is to say, the water you're on now flows into the Atlantic Ocean; when you get across these mountains you'll be on water flowing into the Pacific Ocean; but all the same you'll be over in Middle Park, and if you want to get back to Denver, that's the way you've got to go."
"Yes," said the Englishman; "I told our friend Jones that I felt sure that if we could get across this spur of the mountains, our way back would be an easy one, and we would see something of mountain travel, which is what I wish. You see, America is wholly new to my boy and myself, and this part of America, so wild and free and independent, and so full of beautiful forms of animal life, is quite unlike anything that we have ever seen. We find it very interesting."
"Why, yes," said Hugh, "I should think you would. It surely is a pleasant country, and with good weather anyone ought to have a mighty pleasant trip."
The Englishman had many questions to ask Hugh about distances and about the time required for going from one point to another. Meantime, his son was questioning Jack.
"I say," he said, "do you live out here?"
"No," said Jack, "I'm only out here for the summer. My home is in New York."
"Oh," said the English boy, "then perhaps all these things are as strange to you as they are to me."
"No, not quite, I guess," said Jack; "because this is the fifth summer that I've been coming out into this western country and traveling around with Hugh—that's my friend over there. Every summer since I was a little fellow I've been coming out and we've traveled back and forth over a great deal of country."
"Is it possible!" said the English boy. "Why, you are pretty nearly what they call an 'old timer' out here, aren't you? I notice that the people out here are divided into two sorts, 'pilgrims,' who don't know anything about the country, and 'old timers,' who know all about it."
Jack laughed as he said, "That's about right, and I think that maybe I'm an 'old timer.'"
"Where are you going now?" said the English boy. "But first tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine. I am Henry Clifford of Chester, England, and my father and I are going around the world. We're going to spend this summer in America, and then go to China and India."
"My," said Jack, "that's a nice trip. I would like to make it, but, of course, what I've got to do is to get ready to go to college."
"Yes," said Henry, "I've got to do that, too, but not until I get back to England."
"My name is Jack Danvers," said Jack, "and Hugh and I have come down here from my uncle's ranch to spend the summer trapping here in the mountains. There is quite a lot of fur here, and we've got quite a pack of beaver already. We've got some traps set out here in the creek now, and if we have any luck you'll see us skin some beaver to-morrow morning."
"How awfully interesting," said Henry. "Of course, I've read about trapping beaver, but I never expected to see it done."
"Well, you'll see it to-morrow morning, unless you pull out mighty early."
"I hope we won't," said Henry; "I shall ask my father to lie over here to-morrow if he feels like it. How long are you going to be here?"
"Oh, well," said Jack, "of course, I don't know about that. It'll depend on what luck we have trapping. If we have any luck, we may be up here for several days, if not, we may go on. We were talking about going up to the head of the stream and perhaps hunting there for a day or two. There ought to be sheep up there."
"Sheep," said Henry. "What are those?"
"Why," said Jack, "don't you know the wild mountain sheep?"
"Those fellows that have the big horns? You mean bighorns?" said Henry.
"Yes, sometimes they are called bighorns."
"I know, I know," said the English boy; "I saw some heads in Denver, but I never supposed that we could get anywhere near where they lived."
"Well," said Jack, "there are plenty of them in these mountains, I guess; in fact, there is lots of game here. Only this morning Hugh ran across a little bunch of cow elk only two or three hundred yards from the camp."
"Is it possible!" said Henry. "We've seen lots of antelope on the prairie, and I shot at them a good many times, but I could not seem to hit them. I don't know why."
"What sort of a gun is yours?" asked Jack.
"It's a Sharp's rifle," was the reply.
"Why," said Jack, "that's a first-class gun. You ought to be able to hit anything with that, if you know the gun. Have you tried it at a target?"
"No," said Henry, "I never shot it off, except at these antelope, and neither my father nor I were able to hit them."
"Well," said Jack, "you can't expect to hit anything unless you have tried your gun and know just how to hold your sights to make your bullet go to a particular spot. That's one of the first things I was taught in rifle shooting, to fire my gun at a mark until I understood just how the sights ought to look to hit the mark at different distances. If we were going to travel together for a while, I could teach you how to shoot, I expect, just as Hugh taught me a good many years ago."
"My word," said Henry. "I wish we were going to travel together. I'm going to see what my father means to do to-morrow."
While the boys were talking, Mr. Clifford had been questioning Hugh, as his son had been questioning Jack, and had expressed to Hugh so much interest in what he and Jack were doing that Hugh had suggested that they lie over a day and rest their horses.
After the strangers had left the camp and gone back to their own, Hugh told Jack what he had suggested to the Englishman. "You see, son," he said, "these people are regular pilgrims, and they don't know anything about the country, and they want to know a heap. That young fellow they have with them is a nice young chap, but he doesn't know any more than they know. The man is mighty pleasant spoken for an Englishman, and just as common as you and me. He don't put on any lugs at all. If they choose to lie over to-morrow and watch you and me doing our chores round camp, it won't do us any harm, and it may give them some pleasure and teach them something. If after a day or two they aren't just the kind of people we want to have 'round, we're always free to pack up and strike out. They can't follow us."
"How do you mean can't follow us, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Why, what I mean is," said Hugh, "if they want to stick with us, and we don't want them, it wouldn't take us half a day to lose them in this timber, and we could go off where we wanted to."
"Well," said Jack, "I like that boy Henry very much. He seemed to want to know all about things, and didn't seem to be ashamed to say that he didn't know anything. He's very much interested in trapping, and wants to see us at work, and I told him if they didn't pull out too early to-morrow they would probably see us skin beaver."
"Well," said Hugh, "I don't know what they're going to do, but whatever they do, it won't make much difference to us. Now, we've done a whole lot of visiting to-night, and you and I had better go to bed."