"Well, it's under about two feet of snow now," answered the boy dryly, as 'Merican Joe departed to get their own ax and cut some wood.
By the time the cabin was warmed and the man fed, the storm had ceased. "Let me have a look at your foot," said Connie. "I expect it had better be tended to." The man assented, and the boy turned back the covers and, despite much groaning and whining complaint, removed the bandage and replaced it with a clean one.
"Pretty bad gash," opined Connie. "How did it happen?"
"Cuttin' firewood—holdin' the stick with my foot an' the ax struck a knot."
"You've got to learn a lot, haven't you?"
"What d'you mean—learn? How you goin' to cut firewood without you hold it with yer foot?"
"Nex' tam dat better you hol' de chunk wit' you neck," advised 'Merican Joe.
"Is that so! Well, believe me, I ain't takin' no advise offen no Siwash, nor no kid, neither!"
Connie pulled his cap down over his ears and drew on his mackinaw and mittens. "We're wasting time here, the days are short and if we're going to find your partner we've got to get at it. How long is your trap line, and where does it run?"
"We got about twenty-five martin traps out. They're acrost the river up the first crick—strung along about three or four mile."