“This is rather odd, I allow, to you, Jarsey; but ef you had been with me down on the Yallerstone, you’d seen suthin’ as would’ve made you look, you would. You may shoot me, ef you wouldn’t.”
“I suppose I should, but not more than this has.”
“Mebbe not, but don’t stand gapin’ there all day. It’s gittin’ dark, and we’ll have our fodder.”
The fire was now started, and the smoke ascended finely, escaping at the outlet. A good slice of meat was cooked, and we made a hearty supper upon it. After this the fire was allowed to slumber, but the light remained burning until a late hour. We lit our pipes, and chatted dreamily for a long time in our new home. The trapper, feeling in the mood, related many reminiscences of his life, including adventures both tragical and comical, and Nat gave a few of his own experiences. At a late hour we ceased, and fell into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.
When I awoke the trapper had disappeared. Nat was stretched beside me still asleep. In a short time the former entered as noiselessly as he had departed.
“What fortune?” I asked.
“Good; had two fat fellers. Wake up, and we’ll have a meal as is a meal.”
Nat soon made a movement, and, after several yawns, became fully awake. The trapper kindled a small fire, and cooked his beaver tails. The two made as choice and delicious a meal as I had ever eaten. Nat was convinced by one taste.
The day was clear and pleasant, and Biddon expressed his determination of going up the stream in order to see the signs of game. I accompanied him, but Nat chose to remain at home and sleep a few hours longer.
We sauntered carelessly forth up the stream through the tangled underwood. It was a clear day in autumn; the air was keen and bracing, and the woods gloriously fine. Some of the leaves were just beginning to fall, and they made a dappled and fiery carpet for our feet, rustling with a soft, pleasant sound at every step. Now and then we could hear the shrill notes of some songster of the forest, and once or twice the faint bay of some distant animal.