Dan passed his light rifle over to Paul, and with Paul’s shotgun proceeded to the top of the ridge, keeping a careful lookout, as he walked, while Paul followed a little distance in the rear. On the summit Dan halted until Paul joined him.
“’Tis fine,” said Dan; “look now.”
Below them lay a wooded valley, the green spruce trees splotched with golden yellow patches, where groves of tamaracks had taken on their autumnal coloring. To the westward a small lake shimmered in the sunlight, and leading to the southward from it could be traced the winding course of a creek which was presently lost among barren hills beyond.
“Isn’t it fine!” exclaimed Paul.
“An’ ’tis like t’ be a game country.”
“Oh, I hope so!”
“Now I’ll be leadin’ ag’in, an’ you follows a bit behind.”
A little way down the slope Dan stopped again, and when Paul overtook him, pointed to the berries at his feet.
“See th’ signs? They’s been feedin’ right here. Just over there they been wallerin’ in th’ sand.”