“You’re a rum chap, Griggs,” said Chris.
“I am, my lad, but I can’t help it. Now, let’s see: we came up here to see what there was to be seen, and you wanted to go up higher.”
“And you said we should want bearskin coats.”
“To be sure I did,” without moving a muscle. “Well, there’s one over yonder.”
“A bearskin coat?” cried Ned. “Nonsense! Bearskin coats don’t grow on trees.”
“Thank you for the information,” said Griggs, “but tell me something else; I knew that.”
“Tell us something else,” cried Ned. “A bearskin coat on the mountain side! Where?”
“Over yonder, I tell you, with the gentleman it belongs to wearing it. A splendid fit too, I should say, but it’s too far off to make sure.”
The boys involuntarily cocked their pieces, as Chris said excitedly—
“A man in a bearskin coat—an Indian?”