“Slithers of deer in thet piece across thar,” pointing with his pipestem to the foot of Timberland Mountain. “Ever do any huntin’?”
“Not much. Been after deer once or twice.”
“Must have been suthin’ behind thet poke you gave Fisty this mornin’, I take it?”
“About one hundred and seventy pounds,” replied David, smiling. Avery chuckled his appreciation. Evidently this young man didn’t “pump” easily.
Puff—puff—“Reckon you never done no trappin’.”
“No, I don’t know the first thing about it.”
Avery was a trifle disconcerted at his companion’s taciturnity. He smoked for a while, covertly studying the other’s face.
“Reckon you’re goin’ back to Tramworth—mebby goin’ to quit the woods, seein’ as you and Fisty ain’t calc’lated to do any hefty amount of handshakin’ fur a while?”
“Yes, I’m going back, to get work of some kind that will keep me up here. I wanted to learn a bit about lumbering. I think I began the wrong way.”
“Don’t jest feel sartain about thet, m’self. Howcome mebby Harrigan do, and he’s boss. He would have put you on swampin’ at one plunk a day and your grub. Reckon thet ain’t turrible big pay fur a eddicated man. They’s ’bout six months’ work and then you git your see-you-later pay-check fur what the supply store ain’t a’ready got.”