“Well, I found that bear,” said Young Dan Evans to Andy when he arrived at the camp; and then he gave a full account of his experiences with the Conley family.
“You done dead right!” exclaimed Andy Mace, at the conclusion of the story. “You got brains and use ’em, I do believe; and that’s more’n can be said about most folks nowadays. What size was this here Jim Conley?”
“Big. Over six foot high, I guess, and hefty—and no more sick-abed nor you or me.”
“What would ye’ve done if he’d clum outer the bunk an’ lammed ye one?”
“I’d of lammed him two or three back—maybe four.”
“I reckon ye would. I was jist sich another at yer age, Young Dan—always up an’ doin’, always ready to fight my own weight in minks or men, and yet always a thinker an’ a bit of scholard, too.”
“But I don’t go round looking for fights, Mr. Mace. I’m peaceable enough by nature.”
“Yes, in course. It’s the same with me. There never was a more peaceable citizen on the Oxbow nor Andy Mace—but nobody had to tromp on the tails o’ my snowshoes more’n twice to fetch me round with fists in both hands.”
A week passed before the partners on Right Prong heard or saw anything more of the Conleys. It was a busy week with them, for trails had to be beaten out anew in the deep snow and a fresh supply of bait had to be obtained for the traps; and, as if these tasks were not enough, Andy shot a fat buck deer which had to be skinned and quartered and placed out of harm’s way, and Young Dan cracked the frame of one of his snowshoes. The partners were full of energy and determination, however. They survived that strenuous week breathless but triumphant. They obtained the required bait from the depths of a nameless pond which lay four miles to the eastward of the camp. This was a big job in itself, for the ice was nearly two feet thick on the pond, not to mention the three feet of snow which topped the ice. They shovelled snow; then they chopped and shovelled ice; and at last old Andy bored with a four-inch bit until the clear water welled up into the icy trough from the brown depths. He bored two holes; and then they baited their hooks with fat of pork and each lowered a line into the unknown. They fished steadily for three hours and by the end of that time were too nearly frozen to go on with it. The captured trout froze stiff after a jump or two on the snow.
“Reckon it’s a reel chilly day,” remarked Andy, looking from the low sun, which glinted as grey and cheerless as a flake of ice, to the frozen fish. “Reckon we’d best quit and git home before we’re as stiff an’ twisted as these here trout.”