"Guess we'll have this yer feller for dinner," he said; "stewed with plenty of onions an' some taters."
"You see," observed Kiddie, "we're already beginnin' ter be self-supportin'. Fish, meat, honey—there wasn't any occasion t' bring a butcher's shop along with us. We c'd even make our own bread at a pinch. I'm plannin' ter make a fruit pudding. Thar's a bush 'most breakin' down with its weight of ripe and juicy thimbleberries, back of the old cedar tree. Bees have been at 'em."
The next snare they visited was empty. In another a woodgrouse was caught, and in yet another a fox cub. Kiddie's steel traps were set farther away. He went first to the one about which he had been so particular.
"Gee!" he exclaimed. "It's sprung! Bait's taken. Remains of that rabbit have been eaten, too!"
"Lynx is a cunnin' critter," said Rube. "You gotter wear two pairs o' moccasins t' git level with a lynx."
"I ain't just sure that it was a lynx," mused Kiddie, searching the ground for signs. "You never happened on a jet-black lynx around here, did you, Rube?"
"Nope," Rube answered. "They's allus the same tawny colour. Why d'you ask?"
Kiddie looked down at the tight shut jaws of the gin.
"Thar's a tuft of black fur in the teeth of the trap," he pointed out. "An' look at them claw marks! Guess that critter's some bigger'n a lynx. May's well stay another night in this camp an' try ter git the critter, eh?"
"Dunno 'bout that," Rube demurred. "Might be a whole fam'ly o' rattlers lyin' around. 'Tain't just healthy."