“Mountain goats? Look, boys!” cried Tad.
Stacy threw up his rifle and took a shot. Of course he missed. A leaping mountain goat is not an easy mark even for the best shot, and the fat boy, while shooting very well, could hardly be called an expert.
“Those are the animals from which the beautiful blankets are made,” the Professor informed them. “Do you know how the Indians get the wool?”
“They pull it out by the roots, I guess,” suggested Stacy.
“Hardly,” laughed Ned.
“Spring is the shedding time. The goats, in leaping from place to place, leave tufts of wool clinging to rocks and bushes, and this the lazy Indians gather for their blankets, rather than take the trouble to hunt the goats.”
“Squaw him get wool,” spoke up Anvik.
“Worse yet,” laughed Butler. “You are the laziest folks on earth.”
“Squaw work, him no talk lies. Him mouth keep shut.”