"Th' poor lad! Th' poor lad! An' th' wolves got un!"
"An' his poor mother," said Ed, choking. "'Twill break her heart, she were countin' so on Bob. An' th' little maid as is sick—'twill kill she."
"Yes," said Bill, "Emily'll be mournin' herself t' death wi'out Bob."
These big, soft-hearted trappers were all crying now like women. No other thought occurred to them than that these ghastly remains were Bob's, for the toboggan and things on it were his.
After a while they tenderly gathered up the human remains and placed them upon the toboggan. Then they picked up the gun and blood spattered axe.
"Now here be another axe on th' flat sled," said Dick. "What were Bob havin' two axes for?"
"'Tis strange," said Ed.
"He must ha' had one cached in here, an' were bringin' un back," suggested Bill, and this seemed a satisfactory explanation.
"I'll take some pieces o' th' clothes. His mother'll be wantin' somethin' that he wore when it happened," said Dick, as he gathered some of the larger fragments of cloth from the snow.
Then with bowed heads and heavy hearts they silently retraced their steps to the tilt, hauling the toboggan after them.