Jack the Young Trapper: An Eastern Boy's Fur Hunting in the Rocky Mountains

by George Bird Grinnell

CHAPTER XVI

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."

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