“Morning, Lander. Morning, Davis. I was just getting ready to turn myself into a human steam-plough and wield my aunt’s big shovel. Got to open up the path as far as the road, you know.”
“That’s work,” grinned Davis, two missing front teeth in his upper jaw giving him anything but an appearance of comeliness. “Work was made for slaves.”
“But you Yanks took away our slaves,” reminded Rod jovially, “and so we have to bend our backs like common people.”
“Eh?” grunted Spotty in surprise. “Your slaves? Why, Texas—why, I’ve always thought of Texas as a Western State, and——”
“We’re right proud to be called Southerners,” said Rod. “Find any sport walking on those things?”
“Oh, it’s sport in a way,” answered Lander. “Besides, a feller can get around almost anywhere on ’em, no matter how deep the snow is. I and Spot have been talking about going over to my camp Sat’day. Without snowshoes we’d have to do some tall wading. If we can get a dog, and the snow packs down some, perhaps we’ll try the rabbits a crack—and that’s sport. Ever shoot rabbits?”
“Jacks.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about them. Our rabbits are different; they’re good to eat. Say, it would be fun to shoot a few and have a rabbit stew over at my camp. I can make the stew, too.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” admitted Grant, who had a taste for hunting.
“Want to come in on it? Come ahead. I’ve been telling Spot I thought we might borrow old Lem Sawyer’s hound, Rouser. He’s a good dog, though, like Lem, he’s getting rather old. Lem’s laid up with the rheumatism this winter, and I don’t believe he will do much rabbitin’.”