“I’m not out of cash,” he replied.
“Thet ain’t what I ast you fur,” said Avery, a shade of disappointment flickering across his face. “I want a man to help.”
“How much would it cost to outfit?” asked David.
“Wal, I got a hundred and fifty traps, and mebby we could use fifty more, not countin’ dead-falls for b’ar and black-cat. And you sure need a rifle and some blankets and some winter clothes. I figure fifty plunks would fit you out.”
“I didn’t know but that you would want me to put up some cash toward expenses,—provisions, I mean?”
“No,” said Avery. “I reckon you ain’t broke, but thet ain’t makin’ any diff’runce to me.”
“That’s all right, Avery. It wasn’t the expense of outfitting. I simply wanted to know where I would stand if I did accept. But I have no recommendations, no letters—”
“Hell! I guess them two hands of your’n is all the recommendations I want. I’ve fit some m’self and be reckoned a purty fair jedge of hosses, and a man what is a good jedge of hosses knows folks likewise. I ain’t in no hurry fur you to say yes or no.” The old man swung his rifle to the hollow of his arm. “Take your time to think on it, and you kin stay to Lost Farm Camp jest as long as you are wishful. ’Tain’t every day a eddicated man what kin use his hands comes floatin’ into these here woods.”
“Well,” said David, “I’ve decided. There are reasons why I don’t want to go back. It’s a fair offer and I’ll take it.”
“Put her thar!” the huge bony fist of the lumberman closed heavily on David’s hand, but met a grip almost as tense. “Me and you’s partners. Half-and-half share of workin’, eatin’, earnin’s, and fightin’—if there’s any fightin’ to be did. Reckon you’d better go to Tramworth and git fixed up and mebby you calc’late to write to your folks.”