"You gettin' any, Bill?" asked Ed, turning to Bill, who was reclining in one of the bunks and smoking in luxurious contentment.
"Aye, one marten, an' I shoots a wolf last evenin'--a wonderful poor wolf, an' his skin ain't much account. Three of un were after me on th' trail all day, but I only gets one."
"Three wolves, now--an' poor uns," commented Dick. "Wolves ain't follerin' a man all day unless they's hungry, an' they ain't like t' be hungry where they's deer."
"No," agreed Ed, who had lighted his pipe, one moccasined heel drawn up on the edge of the bunk upon which he lounged, the other long leg stretched out. "Wolves follers th' deer, but when they ain't no deer t' faller they don't faller un. Which means they ain't no deer in this part o' th' country, an' so they just naturally fallers Bill as th' next best meat."
"An' bein' poor means they's hungry, an' bein' hungry means they's lickin' their chops for Bill," continued Dick.
"Were it night, now?" asked Ed.
"No, 'twere broad day," answered Bill, undisturbed.
"Now if 'twere night, I'd say they was follerin' you because your red hair lights th' trail up for un."
"'Tain't no redder 'n your'n," retorted Bill.
"Never mind un, Bill," said Bob sympathetically. "Ed's jealous because your hair's curly an' his 'n ain't."