The next day immediately after breakfast Hugh and Jack stretched the bear hide, and while Hugh went over it with a dull knife and scraped from it all the fat that he could, Jack busied himself in stretching the beaver hides and hanging them up to dry in the shade. This work occupied them both till noon, and after dinner they sat about and rested, for now they had been hard at work for a number of days.
"I reckon, son," said Hugh, "that we'll not make a very long march to-morrow. We can't do anything toward packing our fur until morning, and likely enough we won't get started until about noon. Then, however, we can make a march that will at least take us to another creek. I've half an idea that the best place for us to go now is back to the Platte, and perhaps, from there to the Michigan."
"What's the Michigan, Hugh—a place or a stream?"
"It's a creek," said Hugh, "and a good-sized one, that comes down out of the mountains from the east. There are some beaver on it. Maybe you'd like to stop there and trap."
"I don't know," said Jack; "but I've an idea that I've had trapping enough to last me for two or three days. Maybe I'll look at it differently, though, when we get on the Michigan."
The next morning Hugh looked at the bear hide and declared that he believed that by noon it would be set sufficiently so that they could take it up and pack it and move on, and that the last of the beaver hides could be handled in the same way. During the morning they took the beaver pelts that were already dry and folding them once made a pack of them, which, when tightly lashed, they covered with gunny sacking. These, with the first bear hide, were to make a top pack for one of the animals.
About the middle of the day the pins which held the bears' hides were pulled up, the hides folded over, and after the beaver pelts had been taken from the hoops and each one folded once, these were put together to make a second pack, which also was to go on top of a load. The hides were not dry, but could be spread out again at the next camp.
The morning had been dull and lowering and by the time their packs were made up and dinner eaten, a heavy mist was creeping down the mountainside toward the valley. Jack brought in the horses and saddled them all, and the work of packing was soon accomplished. By the time the little train was in motion a heavy mist was upon them, which sometimes was almost a rain.
To one who is used to travel on the plains or the mountains it makes but little difference whether the march is through rain or sunshine. If it rains, the traveler protects himself as well as possible, and goes on his way as cheerfully as he can, consoled by a certain philosophy which may be only habit, or may be a disregard for discomfort which he knows is but temporary. If the sun is clear and bright, on the other hand, he is still more cheerful; but under no circumstances are his spirits greatly lowered. Men who have not had experience in life out of doors are likely to be depressed by a march through rain. One becomes more or less wet, and it seems hard not to have a house to go into to dry one's self. Tents have to be pitched on wet grounds, blankets are damp, meals must be cooked in the rain and are likely to be cold and wet, so that for one who is not used to outdoor life a rainy day is a real misfortune.