IX

When the minute, which seemed an hour in length, had elapsed, Alex put his finger on his lips for silence and motioned to each boy to see that his rifle was ready. Then cautiously they all pushed up once more to the edge of the ridge.

This time they saw all five of the sheep standing closely bunched together, two or three of them with their heads down. There seemed to be a slight moist place among the slate rocks where perhaps some sort of saline water oozed out, and it was this thatthese animals had visited so often as to make a deep trail on the mountain-side. Alex shook his head as Rob turned an inquiring glance at him, and the boys, who by this time were steady, did not shoot into the huddled band of sheep.

They lay thus for what seemed a long time, eagerly watching the game animals which were unconscious of any hunters’ presence. One of the sheep, a yearling, began to jump up and down, bouncing like a rubber ball in its sportive antics, which almost made John laugh as he watched it. Turning to look at this, the smaller ram paced off to the right, followed now by the larger ram. Both creatures now, as if they had some sense of danger, stood with their majestic heads raised, looking steadily about and apparently scanning the air to catch the taint of danger. Thus they offered a good mark to the riflemen.

“Shoot!” whispered Alex, quickly; and almost as he spoke two reports rang out.

At the report of Rob’s rifle the lesser ram, which was the one that stood to the left, fell as though struck by a hammer, shot through the shoulders and killed at once. The larger ram, which had fallen to John’s lot, was not struck beyond a slight singe of the bullet alongthe hair of its back. It sprang, and with incredible speed began to make its way up the opposite slope. The ewes also scattered and ran. Alex was on the point of using his rifle, when again John’s piece rang out, and this time the great ram, hit fair by the bullet, fell and rolled over and over until it reached the bottom of the slope quite dead.

Both of the boys sprang to their feet and gave a wild whoop of exultation. They were trembling now, although they did not know it, and jabbered excitedly as they started on down the slope to their game. Alex followed slowly, calmly filling his pipe and smiling his approval.

“That’s good work for young hunters,” said he. “I couldn’t have done better. Mr. John, you missed your first shot. Do you know why?”

“I know,” said Rob. “He didn’t allow for shooting downhill. A fellow nearly always shoots too high when he shoots at anything away down below him.”

“Quite right,” nodded Alex, “and a very common fault in mountain hunting.”

“Well, I got him the next time,” said John. “If you can see where your bullet goes you can tell how to shoot the next shot.”

“They’re two magnificent sheep,” said Alex, admiringly, “and we’ve got to take out both these heads, for they’re too good to leave in the mountains. I suppose now we will have to do a little butchering.”

He drew his great knife from his belt, and now in very skilful way began to skin, clean, and dismember the sheep, doubling back the half-disjointed legs and the hams and shoulders and throwing the separated pieces of meat on the skins, which were spread out, flesh side up, on the ground. He took out the shoulders and hams of each sheep and split the remainder of the carcass, detaching the ribs along the spine with blows of his heavy bladed knife. After a little he rolled up the meat of each sheep in its own hide, lashed it firmly with thong, and made it into two packs. The heads he next skinned out, showing the boys how to open the skin along the back of the neck, and across the head between the horns. He asked for their smaller and keener knives when it came to skinning out the ears, eyes and nostrils, but removed the scalp from each sheep without making a cut which showed through the skin.

“Now,” said he at last, “when we get the meat trimmed off these skull-bones you’ll have a couple of sheep heads that many a hunterwould give hundreds of dollars to kill for himself. They are going to be awkward to carry, though, I’ll tell you that.”

“How much would one of these rams weigh, Alex?” asked Rob.

“The biggest one a couple of hundred pounds, maybe,” said Alex. “The green head, this way, might make fifty of that, I don’t know. We’ll have to make two trips down to the bivouac, that’s one thing sure. Maybe we can lighten the heads by trimming out to-night.”

“I’ll tell you, Alex,” said Rob; “if you can take one of the meat packs we’ll take one of the heads between us. It’s downhill from here to where we left the blankets.”

“All right,” answered Alex. “I could carry a couple of hundred pounds down here, I suppose, but there’s plenty of time, as we aren’t more than a mile from camp. So come ahead.”

Proceeding in this way they finally did get all their meat down to the little bivouac they had made under the spruce-trees. They were very tired but happy by this time, and hungry as well, for now evening was closing down.

“I’ll show you how to make a fire now,” said Alex, “because you will see that wearen’t over sand or gravel in this camping place, as we are on the river.”

He scraped away the bed of spruce needles and loose soil until he got down to the moist and sandy layer, with some rocks here and there projecting through.

“That’ll do, I think,” said he. “We won’t build a big fire, and we’ll have rocks under and around it all we can. You always want to remember that a forest fire is a terrible thing, and nearly always they come from careless camp-fires. You know the earth itself burns in a forest like this. Never allow a fire to get away, and never leave it burning. These are laws which we have to follow up here, or we get into trouble.”

“

Ibelieve I like it up here better than I do along the river,” said John, after they finally had their little fire going.

“Yes,” remarked Rob, “you can see out farther here. The mountains are fine. See how pink they are over where the snow is—the sun from the west makes it all like a picture, doesn’t it?”

“I never tire of the mountains,” said Alex, “and I’ve lived among them many years.”

“I’d like to be a hunter,” Rob began.

“Not to-day,” rejoined Alex. “Our people can’t make a living that way now. We have to buy things of the Company, and pay for them with our furs and robes. But we’ll be hunters for this time, sure, with meat in camp and two fine heads as well. I wish we could eat some to-night.”

“Why, why can’t we?” demanded John, who looked as though he could eat a good-sized piece quite raw.

“We could if we had to,” said Alex, “but the meat will be better if we let it hang over night. If we ate too much of the very fresh meat it might make us sick.”

“Men eat bear liver the day it is killed.”

“Yes, white men do, but not many Indians will eat bear liver at all. We can try some of the sheep liver, if you like, for I’ve brought it down in the packs. For that matter, it won’t hurt us maybe to try a little piece of meat roasted on a stick before the fire, the way the Indians cook. That, with a bit of bacon and some bannock that I’ll make, will do us, if we have a cup of tea. You see, I’ve a little can along which I got in Moise’s cook-bag.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to make bread,” began John, “for you haven’t got any pan.”

“No, Injuns don’t always have pans like white people,” said Alex, laughing, “but I’ll show you. I’ll use the flour-sack for a pan—just pour the water right in on the flour and mix it up in the sack. All outdoor men know that trick. An Injun would take a stick and roll around in that white dough and roast that dough ball before the fire along with his meat,” he said, “but I think by taking a slab of bark we can cook our bannock somehow, a little bit, at least, as though we had a pan to lean up before the fire.”

The boys found new proof of the old saying that hunger is the best sauce. For though their meal was really very frugal, they enjoyed it heartily, and having had a cup of tea, they forgot all about their fatigue.

The shadows were coming down across the near-by ridges when at length they turned to Alex inquiringly.

“We want to know where we’re going to make our beds.”

“Well, this big spruce-tree is a good enough tent for me—the lower branches spread out almost like an umbrella. We won’t keep much fire, but if I get cold in the night, not having any blankets, I’ll just make a little fire. You know, I don’t need to sleep as warmly as you do.”

“Well,” said John, “you ought to get under part of our blanket.”

“Then we’d all be cold. Keep some of the blanket under you, for that’s where the cold comes from, not from above. I may after a while push the ashes back from our fireplace and lie down on the ground where it has been made warm by the fire. Injuns sometimes do that when they can’t do any better. Mostly, however, we depend on keeping up a fire if it is very cold and we have no robe or blanket.”

High up in the hills where they were it grew very cold at night, and the boys, shivering in their scanty covering, woke up more than once. Sometimes they would see Alex lying quite asleep, and again he would be sitting up smoking his pipe, leaning against the trunk of the tree. In some way, however, the night wore through, although they were glad when at length the sun came up and they could all stretch their cramped and stiffened limbs.

“My eyes have got sticks in them,” said John, rubbing at his face.

“And my hair pulls a little bit, too,” Rob added. “I forgot to bring my comb, or even my tooth-brush.”

“Well, one thing,” said Alex, as he built up the fire. “We’ll have some sheep meat for breakfast, all right. The animal heat will be all out of it now, and we’ll have a hearty meal. We’ll need it too, for it’s quite a way down to camp, several miles, that’s sure.”

They finished their breakfast while the sun was still low over the eastern mountains, and presently began to think about the homeward march.

“They’ll be wondering about us down there,” said Rob, “and I’m mighty glad we’ve made our hunt and can get home so soon.”

“We might not be able to do it again in a dozen hunts,” said Alex. “Game isn’t as abundant as it once was.”

“I should say not,” said John. “When you read in the stories about Mackenzie and Fraser, and all those old fellows, they’ll tell about seeing all kinds of game from the boat just as they went along.”

“We’ll do the same when we get out of the mountains,” Alex replied; “but not buffalo and caribou any more. Bear and moose we’ll be very apt to see.

“We’ll double-portage these loads for one trip, at least,” he resumed. “I’ll make the first trip with one head on top of my pack, and if you can manage the other one for a little way I’ll come back for the rest of the meat, and we’ll go about half-way down toward the boats on our first trip. As you probably can’t travel as fast as I can, I’m going ahead, but I’ll blaze the trees as I go. Then I’ll drop my load and come back to meet you. When you come to my first load you must stop there until I catch up with you again. As I’ll be below you all the time, at first, there’ll be no danger about your getting off the trail.”

“No danger anyhow,” said Rob. “We’ve often followed a trail that way.”

Indeed, the young hunters proved themselves quite good woodsmen enough to follow Alex down the mountain face into the thicket of the plateau. He went almost at a trot, loaded as he was, and as the boys found the big ram’s head a heavy load for them to carry between them on the stick, they met him as he was coming back up the mountains, when they themselves were not a great deal more than half-way down to the place where he had dropped his pack.

“It’s all plain,” said Alex, “for I followed our old trail down the hill, and put a branch across two or three places so that you’ll know when you’re near the pack.”

They found no difficulty in obeying his instructions, and so tired were they that it seemed but a short time before presently Alex joined them for a second time, carrying the remainder of the meat on his tump-strap.

“Now,” said he, “we’re a great deal more than half-way down to the boats. We won’t come back for the second trip at all now, and we’ll take our time with the loads. I’ll send Moise up for one pack, which we will leave here.”

“Suppose he doesn’t want to come?” asked John.

“Oh, Moise will be glad to come. He’s agood packer and a cheerful man. Besides, I suppose that would be his business as we look at it among our people. In the old times, when Sir Alexander came through, a hunter did nothing but hunt. If he killed a head of game the people around the post had to go out and get it for themselves if they wanted it brought in.”

“But how will Moise find this place?” asked John, anxiously. “I don’t want to lose this head, I’ll tell you that.”

Alex laughed. “He’ll come right to the place! I’ll explain to him, so he’ll know right where it is.”

“Although he has never been here before?”

“Surely; one Injun can tell another how to go to a place. Besides, our trail will be as plain as a board-walk to him. He’s used to that kind of work, you see.”

All of this came out quite as Alex had said. They took their time in finishing their journey, but it was long before noon when they arrived at the boat encampment on the banks of the river, where they were greeted with great joy by Jesse and Moise. Then, although it was not yet time for lunch, Moise insisted on cooking once more, a plan to which John gave very hearty assent, and in which all the others joined.

After a while Alex and Moise, each smoking contentedly, began to converse in their own tongue, Alex sometimes making a gesture toward the mountains off to the east, and Moise nodding a quiet assent. After a time, without saying anything, Moise got up, tightened his belt, filled his pipe once more, and departed into the bush.

“Are you sure he’ll find that meat?” demanded John, “and bring down that bighorn head?”

“He certainly will,” said Alex; “he’ll run that trail like a dog, and just about as fast. Moise used to be a good man, though he says now he can’t carry over two hundred pounds without getting tired.”

“Well, listen at that!” said Jesse. “Two hundred pounds! I shouldn’t think anybody could carry that.”

“Men have carried as much as six hundred pounds for a little way,” said Alex. “On the old portage trails two packets, each of ninety pounds, was the regular load, and some men would take three. That was two hundred and seventy pounds at least; and they would go on a trot. You see, a country produces its own men, my young friends.”

“Well, that’s the fun of a trip like this,” said Rob. “That, and following out thetrails of the old fellows who first came through here.”

“Now,” continued Alex, getting up and looking about the camp, “we have meat in camp, and fish also. I think perhaps we’d better dry a part of our sheep meat, as we used to the meat of the buffalo in the old days. We’ll smoke it a little, cutting it thin and spreading it in the sun. By keeping the fresh meat under boughs so the flies won’t get at it, it’ll stay good for quite a little while too. We don’t want to waste anything, of course.”

They were busy about their odd jobs in the camp when, long before they would have expected it, Moise came trotting down the base of the timbered ridge above the camp, and, still smoking and still smiling, tossed down the big bundle of meat and the other sheep-head on the ground beside the fire.

“By gosh! Those will be fine head!” said he. “If I’ll had this head in Winnipeg I’ll got hondred dollars for each one, me, maybe so. Now I’ll show you how for cook some sheep to-night after supper.”

“You mean at supper, don’t you?” asked Rob.

“Non! Non!We’ll eat supper, wait a while, then those sheep meat he’ll look good some more. I’ll show you.”

“Are you going to tell us another story to-night?” asked Jesse, eagerly.

“Yes, after supper I’ll tol’ you some more story,” assented Moise. “We stay here maybe two, three day now, so to-morrow I think we’ll be in camp. All right. To-night we’ll tell the story some more.”

As Moise was even hungrier than John, there seemed no objection to eating another meal even before sundown. The evening came off fair and cool, so that the mosquitoes did not bother the campers. As the chill of the mountain night came on, the boys put on their blanket coats and pulled the bed-rolls close up to the fire, near which the men both sat smoking quietly. Already the boys were beginning to learn reticence in camp with men like these, and not to interrupt with too many questions; but at length Jesse’s eagerness to hear Moise’s story could no longer be restrained.

“You promised to tell us something to-night, Moise,” said he. “What’s it going to be?”

“First I’ll must got ready for story,” said Moise. “In the camp my people eat when they tell story. I’ll fix some of those sheep meat now.”

Borrowing his big knife from Alex, Moise now cut himself a sharp-pointed stick of wood, two or three feet long, and stuck one end of this into each end of the side of sheep ribs which lay at the meat pile. Finding a thong, he tied it to the middle of the stick, and making himself a tall tripod for a support, he suspended the piece of meat directly over the fire at some distance above, so that it could not burn, but would revolve and cook slowly.

“Suppose in a half-hour I’ll can tell story now,” said Moise, laughing pleasantly. “No use how much sheep meat you eat, always you eat more!”

At last, however, at what must have been nine or ten o’clock at night, at least, perhaps later, after Moise had cut for each of the boys a smoking hot rib of the delicious mountain mutton, he sat back, a rib-bone in his own hand, and kept his promise about the story.

“I’ll tol’ you last night, young mens,” he said, “how about those Wiesacajac, the spirit that goes aroun’ in the woods. Now in the fur country east of the mountains is a lake where a rock is on the shore, split in two piece, an’ the people call that the Split-Stone Lake. Listen, I speak. I tell now how the lake he’s got that name.

“Wiesacajac, he’ll make hont sometime in that country, an’ he’ll come on a camp where all the men are out honting. Only two peoples is left in camp, same like you leave us two peoples here when you go hont. But these two peoples is little, one boy, one girl. The mens an’ womens all go hont in the woods and there is no meat in camp at all. The children were not old for hont or for feesh. Their papa an’ their mamma say, ‘Stay here.’ So they stay an’ wait. They have wait many days. Pretty soon now they’ll gone dead for starve so long.

“Now Wiesacajac, he’ll come an’ stan’ by the fire, an’ see those little peoples. ‘Oh, Wiesacajac,’ they’ll say, ‘we’re ver’ hongree. We have not eat for many days. We do not think our peoples will come back no more. We’ll not know what for do.’

“Now, Wiesacajac, he’ll been always kin’. ‘Oh, now, my childrens,’ he’ll say, ‘this is bad news what you give me, ver’ bad indeed. You’ll make me cry on you, I’ll been so sorry for you. You’re on this lake where the win’ comes, an’ the country is bare, an’ there is no game.’

“He’ll look aroun’ an’ see nothing in those camp but one piece of swanskin, ol’ dry swanskin, all eat clean of meat. Then he’ll lookout on the lake, an’ he’ll see a large flock of swans stay there where no man can come. Those swan will know the children was hongree, but they’ll not like for get killed theirselves.

“Wiesacajac he’ll say, ‘My children, why do you starve when there’s meat there in front of you?’

“Those was child of a honter. ‘Yes,’ said those boy, ‘what use is that meat to us? It’s daylight. You know ver’ well you’ll not can come up to the swans.’

“‘Ah, ha! Was that so?’ said Wiesacajac. ‘Let me show you somethings, then.’

“So Wiesacajac, he’ll take those ol’ swanskin an’ put it on hees head. Then he’ll walk down in the lake an’ sink down till just the head and breast of those swanskin will show on the water. Wiesacajac, he’ll be good honter, too. He’ll sweem aroun’ in the lake foolish, but all tam he’ll come closer to those swan, an’ closer. Those swan she’ll be wise bird, an’ they’ll saw heem an’ they’ll say, ‘There’s one of us that we’ll not miss—what’ll he doing out there?’

“Then they begin to sweem toward Wiesacajac, an’ Wiesacajac begin to sweem toward them. Bimeby he’ll been right among ’em. Then these two hongree boy an’ girl on thecamp they’ll holler out to each other, for they’ll see one swan after another flap his wing an’ jump for a fly, but then fall back on water, for he’ll can’t fly at all.

“Wiesacajac, he’ll have somebabiche—some hide string, aroun’ hees waist, an’ he’ll took it now an’ tie the feet of all those swan together, so all they’ll can do is to flap hees wing an’ scream an’ blow their horn like the swan do. At last he’ll got them all tied fast—the whole flock. But he’ll can’t hold so many swan down on the water. Those swan will all begin to trumpet an’ fly off together, an’ they’ll carry Wiesacajac with them. Now he’ll let them fly until they come right near where those two hongree boy an’ girl is sit, an’ going for starve. Then he’ll drop down an’ tie the end of heesbabicheto a strong bush.Voila!Those whole flock of swan is tie’ fast to camp. None but Wiesacajac can do this thing.

“‘Now my childrens,’ say Wiesacajac, kin’ly, to those boy an’ girl, ‘you see, there’s plenty of meat in your camp. Go now, cook an’ eat.’

“So now those children go an’ keel a swan an’ skin it, an’ get it ready for cook. By this time Wiesacajac he’ll done make the fire. He’ll not want to set woods on fire, so he’llbuild it by those big rocks which always stood by that lake. Here they’ll cook the swan an’ eat all they want, same like we do the sheep meat here to-night. Those two childrens he’ll wish his parent was both there. He’ll say, they’ll not be hongree no more never. He’ll put some meat on a leaf for those ol’ people when they come back.

“Well, Wiesacajac, he’ll say bimeby, ‘Now I mus’ go. When those parent of yours come back, an’ they see those swan, they’ll not go for believe unless I leave a sign. To show them an’ the other people who has been here, an’ to show all the people who hont that it is wise never to get discourage’, but always to keep on trying when you are hongree or in trouble, I make some mark on this place, me.’

“So now Wiesacajac he’ll go down to the water, an’ he’ll come back with his two hands full of those water. Of course, you know Wiesacajac he’ll been much taller than any mans. So he’ll stoop just this way, one leg each side of those two rocks, right at this place. An’ from his two han’ he’ll let fall those water on those hot stone. Now, you know, if you’ll put water on hot stone, he’ll split. These two stone she’ll split wide open from top to bottom.

“You can see those stone there now. All the peoples know them, an’ call them the Split-Stone Lake all the tam. An’ they all know Wiesacajac was there, an’ help the two childrens, an’ split those stone to leave it for a mark.

“I have finish.”

“That certainly is a good story,” said Jesse. “I like those stories you tell up here, for I’ve never heard any just like them. It makes you feel like you were out of doors, doesn’t it, fellows?”

“Yes,” said Rob, “but I’d like to ask you, Alex, do you really believe in all those stories about spirits—the Indian spirits? You know, you were telling me that you went to church.”

“Yes,” said Alex, “I do. The Company likes to have us go to church, and when we’re around the post we do. My mother was baptized, although she was an Indian woman. My father taught me to read the Bible. I believe a great deal as you do. But somewhere in me I’m part Injun.”

“

Well, Alex,” said John, the morning after the sheep hunt, as they sat about the fire after breakfast, “it doesn’t look as though we’d saved much weight.”

“How do you mean, Mr. John?”

“Well, you said we couldn’t kill any grizzlies because the skins were too heavy. It seems to me that sheep heads are just as heavy as grizzly heads.”

“That’s so,” said Alex, “but the sheep were good to eat, and we couldn’t leave the heads in the hills after we had killed them. We’ll try to get them down in the canoe somehow. The sheep meat has been very useful, and I wish we had more of it. We’ll eat it almost all up in this camp, I’m thinking.”

“I suppose we’d better. That reminds me of a story my Uncle Dick told me,” ventured Jesse. “He said he was out fishing with a friend one time, and they wanted some grasshoppers for bait, and hadn’t any way tocarry them. They had a jar of marmalade, so they sat down and ate all the marmalade, and then they had a good place to keep their grasshoppers. I suppose if we eat all the meat up, we’ll have a place for the heads.”

They all laughed at Jesse’s story, but John admitted he would be sorry when all the bighorn mutton was gone, declaring it to be the best meat he had ever eaten. Rob expressed wonder at the way the meat was disappearing.

“I remember, though,” said he, “that Sir Alexander Mackenzie tells how much meat his men would eat in camp. They had a party of ten men and a dog one day, and they brought in two hundred and fifty pounds of elk meat. They had had a hearty meal at one o’clock that afternoon, but they put on the kettles and boiled and ate meat that night, and roasted the rest on sticks, and by ten o’clock the next day they didn’t have any meat in camp! What do you think about that?”

“Maybe so to-night, maybe so to-morrow no more sheep!” grinned Moise, with his mouth still full.

“We’ll have to hunt as we go on down,” said Alex. “We’ll be in good game country almost all the way.”

Under the instructions of Alex the boys now finished the preparation of the sheepheads and scalps, paring off all the meat they could from the bones, and cleaning the scalps, which they spread out to dry after salting them carefully.

“I was out with a naturalist one trip,” said Alex, “and he collected all sorts of little animals and snakes, and that sort of thing. When we wanted to clean the skeleton of a mouse or a snake, we used to put it in an ant-hill. There were many ants, and in a couple of weeks they’d picked the bones white and clean, as if they’d been sand-papered. I suppose we haven’t time for that sort of thing now, though.”

“Why couldn’t we boil the meat off?” suggested Rob.

“A very good plan for a skull,” said Alex, “excepting for a bear skull. You see, if you put the head of a bear in boiling water, the tusks will always split open later on. With the bones of the sheep’s head, it will not make so much difference. But we couldn’t get the horns off yet awhile—they’ll have to dry out before they will slip from the pith, and the best way is not to take them off at all. If we keep on scraping and salting we’ll keep our heads, all right.”

“How about the hides?” asked John, somewhat anxiously.

“Well, sheep hides were never very much valued among our people,” replied Alex. “In the mountain tribes below here the women used to make very white, soft leather for their dresses out of sheep hides. The hair is coarse and brittle, however, and although it will do for a little while as a bed, I’m afraid you young gentlemen will throw away the hides when you finish the trip.”

“Well, all right,” said John. “We won’t throw them away just yet. Let’s spread them out and tan them. What’s the best way to do that?”

“The Injuns always stake out a hide, on the ground or on a frame, flesh side up,” said Alex. “Then they take one of their little scrapers and pare all the meat off. That’s the main thing, and that is the slowest work. When you get down to the real hide, it soon dries out and doesn’t spoil. You can tan a light hide with softsoap, or salt and alum. Indeed, the Injuns had nothing of that sort in their tanning—they’d scrape a hide and dry it, then spread some brains on it, work in the brains and dry it and rub it, and last of all, smoke it. In that way they got their hides very soft, and after they were smoked they would always work soft in case they got wet, which isn’t the case with whiteman’s leather, which is tanned by means of acids and things of that kind.”

“I have tanned little squirrel hides, and ground-hog hides, and wildcat skins,” said Rob, “many a time. It isn’t any trouble if you once get the meat all scraped off. That seems to be what spoils a hide.”

“In keeping all our valuable furs,” said Alex, “we never touch them with salt or alum. We just stretch them flesh side out, and let them dry in the shade, not close to a fire. This keeps the life all in the fur. Alum makes the hair brittle and takes away the luster. For a big bear hide, if I were far back in the mountains, I would put lots of salt on it and fold it up, and let it stay away for a day. Then I would unroll it and drain it off, and salt it all over again; tamp salt down into the ears, nose, eyes, and feet, then roll it up again and tie it tight, with the fur side out. Bear hides will keep all right that way if you haven’t sunshine enough to dry them. The best way to keep a hide, though, is simply to scrape it clean and dry it in the sun, and after that fold it. It will never spoil then.”

“Alex,” ventured Moise, laughing, “you’ll talk just like my old woman about tan hides. Those business is not for mans.”

“That’s true,” said Alex, smiling. “Inthe old times, when we had buffalo, the women always tanned the hides. Hard work enough it was, too, with so heavy and coarse a hide. Now they tan the moose hides. I’ll show you, young gentlemen, lower down this river near the camping places on the shore spruce-trees cut into three-cornered shape. You might not know what that was for. It was done so that the women could rub their moose hides around these angles and corners while they were making them soft. They make fine moose leather, too—although I suppose we’d have to wait a good while before we could get Moise to tan one in that way!”

“What makes them use brains in tanning the hide?” asked Jesse.

“Only for the grease there is in them,” said Alex. “It takes some sort of grease to soften up a hide after it has been dried. The Injuns always said they could tan a hide with the brains of the animal. Sometimes in tanning a buffalo hide, however, they would have marrow and grease and scraps thrown into a kettle with the brains. I think the main secret of the Injun tanning was the amount of hard work put in on rubbing the hide. That breaks up the fiber and makes it soft.

“But now, Moise,” resumed Alex, gettingup and filling his pipe, “I think it is about time we went down and had a look at those rapids below the camp. We’ve got to get through there somehow before long.”

“I don’t like this water in here at all,” said Jesse, looking troubled. “I could hardly sleep last night on account of the noises it made—it sounded just like glass was being splintered up under the water.”

“That’s gravel, or small rocks, slipping along on the bottom in the current, I suppose,” said Alex, “but after all this is not nearly so bad a river as the Fraser or the Columbia—you ought to see the old Columbia in high water! I’m thinking we’d have our own troubles getting down there in boats as small as these. In a deep river which is very fast, and which has a rough bottom, all sorts of unaccountable waves and swells will come up from below, just when you don’t expect them.”

“These rapeed in here, she’ll been all right,” said Moise. “No trouble to ron heem.”

“Well, we’ll not take any chances,” said Alex, “and we’ll in no case do anything to alarm our young friends.”

He turned now, and, followed by Moise, crossed the neck of the bend and passed on down the river some distance. The boys,following more slowly around the curve of the beach, finally saw both Alex and Moise poised on some high rocks and pointing at the wild water which stretched below them for the distance of two or three hundred yards. Moise, who seemed to be more savage than Alex, made a wild figure as he stood gesticulating, a red handkerchief bound over his long, black hair, and his red sash holding in place the ragged remnants of his trousers. To the boys it seemed sure that the boats could not get through such water at all, but to their surprise the two men seemed not in the least concerned when at length they returned to the camp.

“It’s a little rough,” said Alex, “but there seems to be a good channel out in the middle, plenty of water. We’ll run the boats through all right without any trouble. We’ll go through light, and then portage the camp stuff across the bend after we get the boats below the rapids. Come on then, young gentlemen, and help us get ready. It may be interesting to you to see your first piece of real white water, although it isn’t very bad.

“As I figure it, then, Mr. Rob,” continued Alex, “we ought to have rather better water below here for a little while. What does your map say about that?”

“Well,” answered Rob, “it’s pretty hard to tell exactly, but taking the stories of Fraser and Mackenzie together, we ought to be here about one hundred and fifty miles above the mouth of the Finlay. By to-morrow night, if we hurry, we ought to be at or below the McLeod Lake outlet. Dr. Macoun says in his government report that it is easy running in the late season from McLeod to the Finlay, about eighty miles; and I saw a letter once from Mr. Hussey, a friend of Uncle Dick’s, who made this trip lately, and he said there was not much bad water between the lake and the mouth of the Finlay. Below there—look out, that’s all!

“It took the Mackenzie party six or eight days’ plugging to get from there up to the carrying place,” he added, “but we’re going downhill instead of uphill. I should think we would have alternate stretches of quiet water here and there, but no very rough water from here on down for a while. With our small boats we probably cannot go so fast for a while now as they did with their big canoes. They could run bang through a big rapid where we’d have to portage.”

“Well,” said Alex, “I suggest that we spend the rest of this day in camp here, run the two canoes through, sleep here to-night,then portage below the rapids to-morrow morning and make a straight run from there down. We don’t want to take too many chances.”

“That’s all right,” said Rob, “and we’ll help you pack the canoes.”

The men did not put very heavy loads in the canoes, but they took the sheep heads, and most of the heavier camp supplies, putting about half of these each in theMary Annand theJaybird, themselves taking theMary Annfor their first trip through the rapids.

While they were busy finishing their loading, the boys ran on down around the bend and got ready to see the first canoe take the rapids. When Jesse got fully within the sound and sight of the rolling, noisy water which now lay before them, he was very pale.

“What would we do, Rob,” asked he, “if the boat should be lost out there—we couldn’t ever get out of here alive.”

“I don’t think there is that much danger, Jess,” answered Rob. “But if there should be an accident, we have one boat left, and we’d not try to run her through. We’d let her down the edge of the rapids on a rope the best we could, a little at a time. That’s what Alex would do now if he thought there was any real danger.”

“Here they come!” shouted John. All three boys scrambled up on a high, jutting rock, where they could see the course of the boat.

TheMary Annswept around the curve gently and steadily, caught in the rapid down-set of the current. Moise was in the bow, Alex at the stern paddle, and both the men looked steadily ahead and not at either side. They saw the boat seemed to tip down at a sharp angle, but still go on steadily. Alex was following the long V which ran down in the mid-channel stream, on either side of which were heavy rocks and sharp, abrupt falls in the water. At the foot of this smooth strip they saw the bow of the boat shoot up into the air, then drop down to a more even keel. From that time on theMary Annwas swept down swiftly, jumping up and down, part of the time almost hidden out of sight, and, as they thought, swamped in the heavy seas. To their delight, however, they saw the little craft emerge at the foot of the white water after a while and, taking advantage of the back current, swing gently alongside and up the shore toward where they stood at the foot of the main cascade. Both the men were smiling at their excitement.

“Well, what do you think about that?”asked John, in wonder. “I was sure they were gone, but they don’t seem to care at all.”

On the contrary, Moise seemed to be very much pleased with the experience. Alex was smoking quietly. Neither said much when finally they came ashore close where the boys stood.

“That was great work,” said Rob. “It was beautiful!”

“These boat she’ll not tip over,” said Moise calmly. “She’s good boat. I s’pose could carry through maybe a hondred ton or so!”

“Well, maybe notthatmuch!” smiled Alex, “but we’ve proved that the channel out there is practicable. We’ll go up now and bring down the other boat. First we’ll put this one high up on the bank, so that no rise in the stream can take it away, because we’re apt to need these boats before we get through.”

Suiting the action to the word, the twovoyageursnow went back to the camp, and presently the boys once more saw the nodding and dipping little craft come around the bend. TheJaybirdcame through with quite as good fortune as had theMary Ann. And soon the two canoes, lightly loaded, were lying side by side on the beach below the rolling water.

“That’s how we’ll did done it!” said Moise. “S’pose water will be bad, go where he’ll ain’t be so bad. No use for get tip over. S’pose he’ll be too bad, we’ll take a rope an’ let those boat down little bit to a time.”

“Well,” said John, “we don’t want to show the white feather, but I suppose it’s just as well that you should take the boats through a bad place, and not trust to us—we might get rattled in the wrong place out there.”

“Yes,” said Rob, “it’s better to be too careful than not careful enough. I can see now what the boats will do, however, and I have more confidence than I have had at any time about our getting through the journey all right.”

“I can’t quite figure out, Mr. Rob,” said Alex, “just where we are. The maps don’t seem to look like the country, or the country like the maps.”

“According to my reckoning,” Rob answered, “we’re now about where Mackenzie was on June 9th. The day before that—which will be the day after this as we run down the stream—they had sight of a high, white mountain in the evening, off to the east, and there were mountains and valleys in full sight to the south. The valley was wide. That answers pretty closely to the description of this country here. In themorning of that day—which will be later on in the day for us as we go down—they saw a high, white bank on the east. We haven’t passed any such bank. They made seventeen miles of this water coming up. If we can locate that white bank, we ought to strike slacker water below there and then faster water still farther below, according to their story. On June 6th the water was so high and heavy that they had to pull up by the branches of trees, because they couldn’t paddle or pole or track. As they were three days in making something like thirty miles, we ought to expect pretty fast work the next day or so below here. But of course they had high water, and we haven’t.”

“That seems to me good reasoning,” said Alex. “We’ll take it slow and easy, and if we hear a bad rapid we’ll go ashore and look it out first before we run it. Not that I know even now just where that stream comes in from McLeod.”

“We could find out by exploring,” said Rob, “but I don’t think we need do that. Let’s go through on our own as much as we can. We want to stop when we get down into some good bear country anyhow—as soon as Moise and John have eaten up enough pork to make room in the boat!”

“They’re making such a hole in the bacon now,” said Alex, “that I’m afraid we’ll have to stop and hunt somewhere to-morrow.”

“That’ll suit us all right,” boasted John. “Rob and I will stroll out and kill you almost anything you want to-morrow evening.”

They all returned now to the camp, which had been left on the bar around the bend, and passed the night there.

“We’ll have to be goodvoyageursfrom now on,” said Alex, when they turned in for the night, “and that means getting on the trail by four o’clock in the morning.”

By daylight of the following morning the boys were busy breaking camp and getting their luggage across the bend to the place where they had left the boats below the rapids. They found no very bad water for some little distance, although occasionally there were stretches with steep rocks where the water rippled along very noisily. Again they would meet wide bends where the paddles were useful.

They still were in a wide valley. Far to the east lay the main range of the Rockies, but the mountains were much lower than they are farther to the south. They kept a sharp outlook on both banks, trying to find some landmark which would tell them where they were, and at last, indeed, they found a high, white bank on the right-hand side, which they supposed to have been the one mentioned in the Mackenzie journal, although it was not exactly where Rob’s map said it oughtto be. They paused at this place for their first rest, and occupied themselves for a time figuring out, each according to his notion, a map of the country on ahead, which all admitted now was entirely strange to them.

Alex and Moise agreed pretty closely in their description of the country below the Finlay, for they had friends who had made that trip numbers of times. As to the country between this place and the mouth of the Finlay, Rob seemed to be deferred to more than any one else, because he had read carefully and mapped out the country in accordance with the Fraser and Mackenzie journals and such narratives of later travelers as he could find, surveyors, traders, and prospectors.

“Now,” said he presently, “if we should run down two or three hours farther we’d make say fifteen miles, and that ought to bring us about to the spot where Mackenzie climbed the tree to look out over the country. As near as I can get at it, that was pretty near the real divide between the eastern and western waters—that is to say, not far from where the small stream leads back to McLeod Lake, and the McLeod Lake portage across to the Fraser, the way the fur-traders went later on. That’s the Giscombe portage route.It’s a lot easier than the one we’ve taken, too.”

“Well, I don’t see how they ever got boats up this way at all,” said Jesse, looking with wonder at the swiftly moving current which passed at their feet.

“And just to think,” said John, “they didn’t know where they were at all, even as much as we do now; and we’re pretty much lost, if it comes to that.”

“Mackenzie, she’ll been good man,” said Moise. “Maybe so most as good man like my wife hees onkle, Pete Fraser.”

“Well,” said Alex, “we can drop down a way farther and if we don’t meet bad water we’ll get into camp early.”

“‘Drop down’ just about describes it,” said Rob. “It’s like sliding downhill on a sled, almost, isn’t it? I’ll know more about the making of a big river than I ever did before.”

None the less the boys, who had gained confidence with every hour in the care of these skilled boatmen, felt less and less fear as they passed on down the sometimes tumbling and roaring stream which now lay before them. The water was not really dangerous for some distance now, and only in two instances did Alex go ashore and line the boats down at the edge of rapids, although time and againhe cautioned Moise, who was something of a daredevil in the canoe, not to undertake any run which looked in the least bad. Moise and Rob, of course, retained their position in the lead boat, theMary Ann.

“I believe I’ll get the hang of it after a while,” said Rob, as they paused at the head of a rapid lying ahead of the two canoes. “The main thing is to map out your course before you go through, and then hang to it. You can’t take any too sudden turns, and you have to be careful not to strike on a rock—that’s the most dangerous thing, after all, except the big swells at the foot of a fast drop.”

Sometimes, when the shore was strewn with rocks alongside a rapid which interrupted the passing down of the boats, all of the party would be as much in the water as out, wading, shoving and pulling at the boats. They were pretty well chilled when, well on into the afternoon, Alex signified that it was time to make camp for the day.

“Better get out dry socks and moccasins, young gentlemen,” said he. “You’re not quite as tough as Moise yonder.”

Moise, happy and care-free, had not as yet started to make a fire, but was sitting on a rock playing earnestly at a jews’-harp which he carried in his pocket.

Jesse, idly prowling around in the “possible bag” in which Moise carried his personal belongings, tipped out on the ground what looked to be a small chopping-bowl, or wooden dish. “What’s that, Moise?” said he, “and what are all these sticks tied up in a bundle here?”

“I suppose you’ll not know what’s those,” said Moise.

Jesse shook his head.

“That’s what Injun calls his game,” said Moise, laughing.

“His game—what’s that?”

“Those game she’ll been call platter game. All tam in winter Injun will play those game in hees house—he’ll play it here hondred year, two hondred year, I s’pose maybe.”

“I know!” broke in Rob, eagerly. “Mackenzie tells about that very thing. He says that two of his Indians got to fighting over a game of platter at the fort down below here. I wonder if that’s the same thing!”

“It is,” said Alex, “precisely the same. The Crees all play this, although so far as I know it isn’t known east of Lake Superior. Show him how to play, Moise.”

Moise now spread down one of the blankets on the ground and took his seat cross-leggedat the side of it, motioning to the boys to sit opposite. He now untied the greasy rag which wrapped up the bundle of sticks, and produced from it eight little pieces of copper, disks, red on one side and tinned or galvanized on the other. These he put in the pan or platter, and shaking them together, tossed them into the air, catching them again in the bowl, which he thumped on the blanket just as they fell.

“S’pose four white an’ four red’ll come out,” said he, “an’ I’m play’ with Alex. He’ll give me eight stick now, for I’ll win. So. Try heem again.”

This time the little disks fell irregularly, and Moise expressed his disgust.

“Five one kin’, three other kin’; no good!” said he. “She’ll have to come up two, four, seex, eight—the hard way for heem to come is all tam the way he’ll win. You see?” he continued on shaking and thumping the bowl and catching the little disks, and as he won or lost, Alex gravely handed him the little sticks, or counters, or received them back from him as the case might be.

This ancient gambling device of the Indians was very simple and the game was soon learned, but the knack of catching the disks in the pan proved quite difficult. Johnundertook it, with the result that he spilled every one of them out when they fell in the shallow bowl, much to the amusement of Moise.

“You’ll not been Injun,” said Moise. “If any of those pieces he’ll fly out of pan, then you have to give up the pan to the next man. You’ll make a loss that tam. All tam Injun he’ll play those platter game in the house at night,” continued Moise. “Two, four man, she’ll sit on blanket an’ play many hour. His woman she’ll cook meat on the fire. Another man he’ll sit an’ poun’ the drum. You’ll see my drum, I s’pose.”

He now fished out from under his bed one of the singular Cree drums, a shallow, one-sided circle of bent wood covered with tightly stretched moose skin. He showed them how the Indian drummer held this, straining it tight with thongs stretched from finger to thumb, and making the music by drumming with the fingers of the other hand.

“Injun he’ll use those drum sometam to pass time,” said Moise. “Sometam he’ll use heem for pray. S’pose I’ll want ver’ much for get moose—I’ll play on heem an’ seeng. S’pose I want for get grizzly ver’ much—then I seengver’ hard for get grizzly. S’pose you’ll seeng an’ play, always you’ll get those game, sure.”

“I don’t see what we’d do without you, Moise,” said John, who was continually rummaging around in Moise’s ditty-bag. “For instance, what’s this funny-looking knife you have here?”

“That’s worth noticing,” said Alex. “You young gentlemen ought to get you one of those knives each before you leave the country. That’s what we call a crooked knife—you see, the end of the blade is turned up.”

“How do you use that sort of thing?” asked John, curiously.

“As any native Injun always uses a knife,” rejoined Alex. “You see how the handle is put on—well, an Injun never whittles away from him, but always pulls the knife toward him. You’ll see, too, that he never sharpens a blade on both sides, but puts all the bevel on one side—look at my big hunting-knife here—it’s only sharpened on one side, and the other is perfectly flat.”

“Well, what makes Indians do that way?” asked John, wonderingly.

“I don’t know,” said Alex, “except that they always have done so. You see, they use files rather than whetstones to sharpen their tools. Maybe they find it easier to put on an edge in this way. Anyhow, if an Injun is making a canoe or a pair of snowshoes, ordoing any other whittling work, you will see him use one of these crooked knives, and he’ll always whittle toward him, with his thumb out at the end of the handle. I don’t know who first invented these crooked knives,” continued Alex, musingly, “but they’ve always been that way since my father can remember. As to this big buffalo knife, I suppose the Northwest Company or the Hudson Bay people invented that. They’ve been selling them in the trade for a hundred and fifty years or so.”

“I suppose each country has its own tools and its own ways,” ventured Rob.

“Precisely.”

“I’ve been told,” Rob went on, “that that’s the way the Chinese use a knife or a saw—they pull it to them instead of pushing it away.”

“Well,” said Alex, smiling, “some people say that all of us Injuns came across the narrow salt water far to the northwest. You know, too, don’t you, that the Crees call themselves the First People?”

“They certainly were first in here,” assented Rob; “and, as we’ve said before, it’s hardly fair to call any white man a real discoverer—all this country was known long before a white man ever set foot in it.”

The supply of mountain mutton had lessened with alarming rapidity in this open-air work, which tends to give any man or boy a strong appetite. Moise looked rather ruefully at the few pieces which he still had hanging on his meat line near the camp.

“I’ll tol’ you this sheep she’s getting mighty scarce now pretty soon before long,” said he.

“Why not make a hunt, Alex?” asked Rob. “It looks like fairly good country, and you might be able to get something.”

“We might get a bear,” said Alex, “or possibly a moose. For all I know, the buffalo used to come this far back in from the east. It doesn’t look like sheep country just in here, however, because we have to go too far to get to the mountains.”

“How about caribou?”

Alex shook his head. “You mustn’t ask me,” said he. “This isn’t my country, and I’ve never been here before, nor seen anyman who has been here. I know there are caribou in British Columbia, far to the north.”

“Mackenzie talks about seeing reindeer in here.”

“Yes, I suppose he meant the black-faced caribou of the mountains, and not the regular barren-ground animal which goes in the big herds. It’s odd, but those early men didn’t seem to know all the animals on which they depended so much. Without doubt Mackenzie called the musk-ox some sort of buffalo, and he called these mountain caribou the reindeer. But we might get one for all of that. How would you like to go with me across the river, Mr. Rob, and make a little hunt?”

“Fine!” assented Rob, eagerly. “But how about the others?”

“I’ll tell you, Rob,” said John, who, to tell the truth, was just a little tired from the hard work of the day before; “you and Alex go across, and after a while Moise will take Jess and me out on this side a little way back. We’ll all meet here this evening.”

This plan was agreed to, and in the course of a few moments Alex and Rob were pushing across the river in theMary Ann, equipped lightly for their first hunt after some game which Rob was eager to meet because it was new to him.

Once more they pushed through heavy undergrowth close to the river, traveled up a rather lofty bank, and found themselves in flatter country, beyond which at some distance rose some mountains.

“I’ll bet you,” said Rob, “that this is just about where Mackenzie climbed the tree to look around—you can’t see much from the river down there, and his men were complaining about the hard work, and he didn’t know where he was. So he climbed a tree to have a look.”

“Well, Mr. Rob,” said Alex, “if you don’t mind, I’ll let you do the climbing, while I sit here and smoke. I’m not quite as light as I once was.”

“All right,” said Rob. And, divesting himself of his cartridge-belt and jacket, a little later he began to make his way up to the topmost branches of the tall spruce, breaking off the dead limbs as he slowly advanced upward.

Rob remained aloft for some moments, but at last descended and rejoined Alex.

“Now, what did you see, Mr. Rob?” inquired the old hunter.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Rob; “it’s hard to figure out exactly, of course. But Mackenzie talks about high mountains off to the northwest,and a parallel range of mountains running to the south, with a narrow valley between. That, of course, must be this river, and as near as I can tell, it must have been about here that he and Mackay and the Indian hunters took to the shore to spy out the way.”

“And jolly well got lost, too, eh?”

“They certainly did—got lost from their boat for an entire day! I can imagine how they felt when they didn’t know whether the boat was above them or below them. Mackenzie says the mosquitoes about ate them up. They sent branches down the river to let the boatmen know they were above them. It wasn’t until night that finally they found the boat was far below them. I’ll warrant they were glad when they got together again. The truth is, the men were almost ready to turn back and leave Mackenzie where he was.”

“They’d have done that a dozen times but for his courage,” said Alex. “Well, now, what would you do, Mr. Rob, if you should get lost in the woods or mountains any time?”

“I’d try to keep cool,” said Rob, “but I’m not sure that I could. It’s a mighty bad feeling—I know what it is myself. What would you do, Alex, if you ever got lost in a storm, or anything of that kind?”

“Sit down and build a fire,” answered Alex. “Go to sleep, take it easy, and wait till my mind got cool. Then when you’re rested and all ready to go on, you nearly always know which is the right direction. You see, an Injun is a good deal like a dog, as Moise would say. But now suppose I should get separated from you in here—how would you get back to camp?”

“Well, you see,” said Rob, “there is that high mountain on this side of the river, and there is one right opposite, far off on the east side. I know our camp is on the line between those two peaks. Of course I’d know the river was downhill, unless I wandered off over some other little divide. I’d just simply go downhill as straight as I could until I hit the river. Of course I couldn’t tell, maybe, whether I was just above or below the camp. But I’d wait to see smoke, and I’d fire off my rifle, hoping that some one would hear me. Then I think I would not go very far from that place. I’d sit down and build a smoke, and wait.”

“That would be the best way to do,” Alex assented. “But do you know, simple as that seems, lots of grown men couldn’t do it—they’d lose their heads and be just as apt to go west as east! Many a man has been lostin the wilderness simply because he got excited and scared and didn’t take it easy. Always remember that whenever you are in a wild country it isn’t as dangerous as it seems to be.

“But come, now,” he resumed, “I suppose we must get over in that flat country and see if we can find any sign of game.”

“How do you hunt caribou, Alex? I don’t know anything about it.”

“That’s hard to answer,” rejoined the old hunter. “Of course you can take a trail if you can find it, and if it seems fresh. An Injun hunts moose by following the trail. But either a moose or a caribou has very keen scent, and if you follow straight on after them, and don’t circle once in a while and pick up the trail again, you’re not apt to come up with either one or the other. A caribou, however, is a strange animal—it isn’t nearly as wild as a moose or a bighorn. A grizzly bear has very keen scent but very bad eyes, and I don’t suppose a grizzly can see you half a mile at best. Now, a caribou has good eyes, ears, and nose, but he hasn’t got any head. Sometimes he is very shy, and sometimes he’ll stand and look at you, and let you keep on shooting. He seems to be full of curiosity, and wants to know what you’re doing.

“We’ll work on over a little at a time,” he continued, “and maybe if we skirt around some open meadows or glades we may see some tracks. Sometimes they come out in places like that to feed or stand around. A water-hole or little lake, too, is good for game usually. When an Injun knows he’s in a country where game is moving or feeding he keeps pretty quiet and lets the game come to him rather than going to it.”

The theories laid down by the old hunter seemed soon to work out fairly well, because they had not gone up more than a mile farther until they got into a country which showed considerable sign of moose and caribou, the latter in rather a fresh trail. As this led them to a sort of open, grassy glade, where other sign was abundant, Alex paused for a time in the hope that something might show from the heavy cover in which they had been traveling.

At last he quietly laid a hand on Rob’s arm, and without making any sudden movement, pointed across the glade, which at that place was several hundred yards wide.

“Oh, I see them!” said Rob, in an excited whisper. “What funny-looking things they are—five of them!”

“Two stags, three cows,” said Alex, quietly. “Too far to shoot. Wait awhile.”

They drew back now into the cover of the surrounding valleys, where it is true the mosquitoes annoyed them unspeakably, but where they remained with such patience as they could possess. The caribou seemed to be slowly feeding out from the opposite edge of the forest, but they were very deliberate and uncertain in their progress. The two watched them for the best part of half an hour.

“Too bad!” said Alex, at last, as he peered out from behind the tree which shielded them. “Four hundred yards at best.”

Rob also ventured a look at this time.

“Why, there’s only three,” said he.

“Yes, the two stags went back into the woods.”

“But we can’t kill the cows,” said Rob, decisively.

“Why not? They’re just as good to eat.”

“Maybe better,” said Rob, “I don’t doubt that. A young, fat cow is better meat than an old bull any time, of course. But Uncle Dick said we mustn’t waste anything, and mustn’t kill anything except what had horns in this kind of game.”

“Well,” said Alex, “I don’t much feel like going back to camp without any meat.”

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