They strode down the trail, Avery in the lead. As they neared the last turn which led them out to the footboard of the dam, he paused.
“My gal Swickey is growin’ up to whar she oughter git larnin’. I sot in to learn her, but she’s always a-squirmin’ out of it by askin’ me things what I can’t answer and then gettin’ riled at her Pa. Now if you could—’thout lettin’ on as you was doin’ it—larn her readin’ and writin’ and sech, I’d be pow’ful glad to pay you extra-like fur it.”
So the cat was out of the bag at last. Avery wanted a teacher for his girl. The old man was willing to take a green hand as partner in trapping and share the proceeds with him for the sake of Swickey’s education. Well, why not?
“I’ll do what I can, Avery.”
“Thet’s the talk. Me and you’ll make a lady of her.”
As they approached the cabin a figure appeared in the doorway and the melodious treble of a girl’s voice rang across the river. She disappeared as Avery’s Triton bellow answered.
“She’s callin’ us fur dinner,” he explained needlessly.
“Did you get anything?” said Swickey, as they entered the cabin.
“He bagged me,” said Ross, laughing.
“Whar’d he bag you?” exclaimed Swickey, solicitously looking at David for visible proof of her father’s somewhat indifferent marksmanship.