“My name is Charles Amesbury. I’m trapping back in the Indian Lake country. My friend here is Ahmik, though you will hear them call him John Buck at the post.”
“My name is Paul Densmore.”
“Mine’s Dan’l Rudd.”
“How do?” said the Indian, following his companion’s example and shaking hands.
“You seem to be having a cozy time here,” remarked Amesbury, picking the ice from his beard as rapidly as the heat from the fire loosened it sufficiently.
“We’re having a bully good day. We were getting homesick over at the post, and ran over for the holiday.”
Dan had gone to the river for a kettle of water, and returning put it over the fire.
“We’ll be boilin’ th’ kettle, an’ you’ll have a snack o’ pa’tridge along with a cup o’ tea,” he suggested.
“Thank you. Don’t mind if we do, eh Ahmik?” And Amesbury contentedly stretched his long legs, which seemed very much in the way.
“Ugh. Good,” remarked Ahmik, who was sitting on his heels.