"And then, we need it in our business so bad, too," remarked the other, drily; "so I think you'd better be getting it, Tom."
Accordingly, Tom started off again to retrace his steps, promising to be back in half an hour or less. With the pleasing prospect of fresh meat for supper, Felix worked with additional vim, as he swung the light axe they had carried with them through the three days they had been on the trail up here.
Now and then he would steal a glance toward the row of grim trophies that had fallen to his skill as a marksman; yet from certain words that dropped from his lips it was evident that Felix gave much of the credit to his faithful gun.
"Just point it straight, and it'll do the rest every time," he chuckled, with a fond look at the rifle snuggled down close to where he was working, so that he could snatch it up at a second's warning, if necessary.
After a time the cheery whistle of his chum was heard near by, and then Tom appeared, staggering under his load, but making light of it when Felix protested that he should not have tried to carry so much.
"Plenty of meat for a week or two, because it'll keep sweet and nice in this mountain air, and particularly at this time of year," Felix had said, as he helped unload the pack-horse and sized up the cuts.
"Don't examine 'em too close," remonstrated the Nimrod; "I never was a good hand at butchering; though I had ought to be, because I've been raised among cattle, and have cut up many a steer. But it answers our purpose."
"Well, if you call that poor work, you'll take a fit when you see what I do," remarked the other, shaking his head in despair.
As the afternoon was now getting along, they determined that they might as well start things moving, looking toward supper. Both of them were fairly wild to get the first taste of meat on the trip.
At home, and cooked in the civilized fashion, with possibly only a poor appetite spurring one on, venison is apt to seem dry eating; but take it out in the woods with the proper surroundings, and hunger that is clamorous in its demands; with the game cooked after the hunter's fashion, and there is nothing more delightful. Just so the coffee tastes like nectar out of a rusty old tin cup, while at home much of the pleasure is lost if there happens to be a crack in the delicate china cup in which the fragrant juice of the Java bean is served. The conditions and surroundings have a great deal to do with the enjoyment of a thing; and venison was never intended to be eaten over a snow-white table cloth, and flanked by cut glass and china and silverware.