So on
Wednesday morning, with a quarter of venison on his flat sled, he
turned down over the trail.
Everything went well. Signs of fur were good and Bob was brimming over
with anticipation when a week later he reached the river.
Bill did not arrive until after dark the next evening, and when he
pushed the tilt door open he found Bob frying venison steak and a
kettle of tea ready for supper.
"Ho, Bob, back ahead o' me, be un? Where'd ye get th' deer's meat?"
"Knocked un over after you left me. 'Tis fine t' be back an' see you,
Bill. I've been wonderful lonesome, and wantin' t' see you wonderful
bad."
"An' I was thinkin' ye'd be gettin' lonesome by now. You'll not be
mindin' bein' alone when you gets used to un. It's all gettin' used t'
un."
"An' what's th' signs o' fur? Be there much marten signs?"
"Aye, some. Looks like un goin' t' be some. An' be there much signs on
th' Big Hill trail? Dick says there's a lot o' footin' his way."
"I _has_ one marten," said Bob proudly, "an' finds good signs."
"Un _has_ one a'ready! An' be un a good un?"
"Not so bad."
"Well, you be startin' fine, gettin' th' first marten an' th' first
deer."
Bill had taken off his adikey and disposed of his things, and they sat
down to eat and enjoy a long evening's chat.
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