"There he goes again," burst out Steve; "I tell you, fellows, we're going to have a peck of trouble with this here inquirin' mind of Toby's."
"G-g-go chase yourself!" blurted out the stuttering boy, indignantly. "I'm only tryin' to g-g-get information at c-c-close quarters."
"And you'll get it, all right," chuckled Steve. "You'll be satisfied, I reckon; but think of us, what we'll have to stand. Just you let that close quarters racket die out, Toby Jucklin."
"Some of the animals are jet black," remarked the trapper, "and they fetch a better price than the striped skins."
"Glory be!" ejaculated Bandy-legs.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded Steve.
"You don't mean to tell me they use the skins for furs?" Bandy-legs continued.
"Sure they do," replied Steve; "ain't that so, Uncle Jim?"
"They make splendid furs," was what the trapper remarked. "The striped ones are dyed, of course. And they have a way of removing any faint odor that happens to remain."
"Faint odor!" echoed Steve, sniffing the atmosphere. "I wonder if there ever is such a thing in connection with these awful beasts."