“Well,” said Rob, “it was just the way you said—they didn’t seem afraid at all. I’ve got one picture, square front end, of that old fellow, and I don’t think he was twenty feet away from me. He seemed to think the camera was something that was going to hurt him, and he showed fight.”
“Now,” said Uncle Dick, “the next thing is to get our meat down the mountain.”
Rolling up his sleeves, he now prepared to skin out such meat as he wanted from the dead goat. He cut off the head and neck, and cut off the legs at the knee-joints. Then he skinned back only the fore quarters, leaving the hide still attached to the hind quarters and the saddle. Using his belt, he folded the skin over the saddle, and then, tying the sleeves of his coat so that it covered his shoulders, he hoisted the saddle astride of his neck.
“I don’t fancy this smell very much,” said he, “but I guess it will be the easiest way to get our meat down the mountain. Come on now, boys, every fellow for himself, and be careful not to get a fall.”
It was hard and sometimes rather slow work scrambling down the steep face of the mountain, especially high up where the rocks were bare. But after a time they came to the small green trees, and then to the tall pines under whose shade the ground was softer and gave them a better footing. It did not take them so long to come down as it had to ascend, but they were all tired when late that afternoon they arrived at their camp on the little promontory.
Moise was overjoyed at their success, and was all for cooking some of the meat at once; but Uncle Dick checked him.
“No,” said he, “it’s too fresh yet. Skin it out, Moise, and hang it up overnight, at least. You may set a little of it to stew all night at the fire, if you like. Soak some more of it overnight in salt and water—and then I think you’d better throw away all the kettles that you’ve used with this goat meat. It may be all right, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a long time before I learn to like goat. If this were a mountain sheep, now, I could eat all that saddle myself.”
Moise asked who killed the goat, and when told that it was John he complimented him very much. For Rob’s work with the camera he had less praise.
“I s’pose she’s all right to make picture of goat,” said he, “but s’pose a man he’s hongree, he couldn’t eat picture, could he?”