“A little. How are those for wild turkeys?”
“Fine! Now we’ll have a good breakfast, anyway.”
“How is Mr. Dawson?”
“He says he feels pretty easy. But his ankle is badly swollen. Say, he’s a splendid man, and one of the greatest hunters you ever heard of, Chet. And he’s rich, too—he owns a ranch out West and a bungalow down on the Jersey coast, and a yacht, and I don’t know what all.”
“You can tell him I brought down the moose he wounded.”
“What!” And Andy’s eyes showed his astonishment.
“It’s true. The moose almost laid me low first, but I got the best of him after all.”
“Where is the animal?”
“About a quarter of a mile from here. I covered him with snow, and put a stick and my handkerchief over the spot.”
“Did he attack you?”