Marston attained a sitting posture with much difficulty and pain; but when he had eaten the steak and the marrow-bones he felt much better; and when he had swallowed a cup of hot tea (for they carried a small quantity of tea and sugar with them, by way of luxury), he felt immensely better; and when he finally lay down for the night he felt perfectly well—always excepting a sensation of general batteredness about the back, and a feeling of rusty-hinges-wanting-oiliness in the region of the neck.
“Now, Bounce,” said he, as he lay down and pulled his blanket over his shoulder, “are the horses hobbled and the rifles loaded, and my mother’s hump out o’ the way of wolves?”
“All right, lad.”
“Then, Bounce, you go ahead and tell me a story till I’m off asleep. Don’t stop tellin’ till I’m safe off. Pull my nose to make sure; and if I don’t say ‘hallo!’ to that, I’m all right—in the land of Nod.”
March Marston smiled as he said this, and Bounce grinned by way of reply.
“Wot’ll I tell ye about, boy?”
“I don’t mind what—Indians, grislies, buffaloes, trappers—it’s all one to me; only begin quick and go ahead strong.”
“Well, I ain’t great at story-tellin’! P’r’aps it would be more to the p’int if I was to tell ye about what I heer’d tell of on my last trip to the Mountains. Did I ever tell ye about the feller as the trappers that goes to the far North calls the ‘Wild Man o’ the West’?”
“No; what was he?” said Marston, yawning and closing his eyes.
“I dun know ’xactly wot he was. I’m not overly sure that I even know wot he is, but I know wot the trappers says of him; an’ if only the half o’t’s true, he’s a shiner, he is.”