Uncle Dick threw up his hands. “Now, there you go again, always wanting to stop to fish or hunt! I’ve told you that we ought to hurry on through.”
“Well, just one day!” argued John.
Uncle Dick sighed. “Well,” said he, “we ought to be glad you’re not drowned, John. And I suppose you think we ought to make some sacrifice on that account? Well, all right. If you promise to be contented with one day’s hunt, and to start out to-morrow morning and keep on the trail until we strike the Tête Jaune Cache, I’ll agree to go with you to-day. The fact is, I wouldn’t mind stretching my own legs a little bit, for I’m cramped with saddle work. But I warn you it’s a stiff pull up that mountain there.”
“Shall we just go to photograph?” asked Rob, “or shall we take the rifle?”
“As you like, for this is British Columbia here, and I’ve a license for each of you to shoot game as needed. But we only want one goat, so we don’t need to take more than one rifle. And it really is hard climbing.”
“Let me take my camera,” said Rob, “and you carry the rifle, Uncle Dick. The others won’t need to take anything at all.”
“Then we wouldn’t have anything to do but just climb,” protested John.
His uncle smiled at him. “Come now,” said he; “I’ll let you do the shooting if you see a good, fat young goat. For my part, I’d as soon shoot a poor, sick calf in a barnyard. You and Jesse decide which is to shoot, and I’ll carry the gun until the time comes.”
“That’s all right,” said Moise, who overheard their conversation. “Those boys was both fine shot, both of him. You let him shoot one small, leetle goat for Moise, and I’ll show you he’s good for eat.”