Larry made no reply but munched his bacon and biscuit, occasionally handing a bit to Kim who sat near, watching expectantly. As soon as breakfast was finished, Martin brought our two pairs of snow-shoes and strapped one pair to his own feet, instructing Larry to follow his example. Then he showed the boy how to take the swinging, gliding steps, sliding one shoe past the other with the peculiar leg motion that shot the shoe ahead without getting tangled up with its mate.
“Now watch me while I run out to that tree and back, and try to do as I do when you start,” he instructed. And with that he struck out, the two dogs running beside him, barking excitedly, for they seemed to know the significance of snow-shoes, and were eager for a run through the woods.
The tree Martin had indicated was about a hundred yards away, and the old hunter covered the distance at top speed, exhilarated as a boy trying his skates on the first ice of the winter. He did not stop when the tree was reached, but turned sharply to one side so as to circle it. As he did so Larry passed the tree on the other side, running like a veteran, trying to beat him, and bursting with suppressed laughter. “I’ll race you to the top of the hill and back,” the boy shouted exultantly.
But the old man, in his astonishment, bumped into a sapling and came to a full stop.
“Where in the world did you learn to use snow-shoes like that?” he asked, when Larry had swung around to him.
“Oh, in the Adirondacks that winter,” Larry answered, trying to seem as if knowing how to use snow-shoes was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“But why didn’t you say so?” Martin persisted, his face beaming.
“Well, you never asked me,” said Larry. “I came within one of telling you last night, but I just thought I’d save it and surprise you.”
“Well, you sure did surprise me,” the old hunter said; “the very best surprise I have had since I can remember. Why, I woke up half a dozen times last night worrying because we would have to wait so long because you had to learn to use the shoes before we could start. And here you knew how all the time. You can run like an Indian, Larry.”
“Well, I can run pretty good,” Larry admitted modestly. “I beat all the boys in the Christmas races up there last year, and one of them was an Indian boy, at that.”