“I am not much of a pot-hunter,” said Paul. “There may be game, but I can't seem to get it. The snow is pretty deep.”
“Wouldn't bear a man on snowshoes?”
“He would go out of sight.”
“Snowing a little every day?”
“Right along, quietly, for I don't know how many days! I think the sky is packed with it a mile deep.”
“How much grub have we got?”
Paul gave a flattering estimate of their resources. The patient was not deceived.
“Where's it all gone to? You ain't eat anything.”
“I've eaten a good deal more than you have.”
“I was livin' on fever.”