Mid-September came, with nights of white frost, mornings of gold and silver magic, and noons of sunshine faintly fragrant with scents of balsamy purple cones and frost-nipped berries and withering ferns. Red and yellow leaves fell circling in windless coverts; and cock partridges, with trailing wings and out-fanned tails, mounted on prostrate trunks of old gray pines, filled the afternoons with their hollow drumming. Then a change came over Mick Otter. His interest in agricultural pursuits suddenly expired. Fat pigs, well-fed cattle, full barns and his comfortable bed suddenly lost all meaning for him. He sniffed the air; and his eyes were always lifting from his work to the hazy edges of the forest. Even the virtues of Catherine’s cooking suddenly seemed a small and unimportant matter to him.
One evening at supper he said, “Set little line o’ traps ’round Pappoose Lake maybe. Plenty musquash, some fox, some mink, maybe. You don’t trap that country long time now, hey?”
“Ain’t trapped it these five years,” replied Gaspard. “I’d help ye set the line but I be afeared o’ rheumatics—an’ I gotter watch out ’round these here clearin’s.”
“You come, hey?” queried Mick, turning to Tom. “Git plenty fur, plenty money, plenty sport.”
“Where is it?” asked Tom, without enthusiasm.
“Five-six mile,” replied Mick. “You come back when you like to see Gaspar’, what?”
Tom reflected that money might be useful in the future, although he had lived through these last three months without a cent. He could see no likelihood of ever being able to touch the few hundreds of dollars to his credit in the bank, in the distant world from which he had fled. Yes, he might need money some day; and furs of almost every variety brought a high price now, he had heard. So why not join Mick Otter in this venture? If their activities took them no farther afield than Pappoose Lake he would be able to visit the clearing twice or thrice a week—and oftener, with luck. He glanced covertly at Catherine.
Catherine had been watching him; and the moment their eyes met, she nodded slightly and smiled.
“That a’ right!” exclaimed Mick Otter, whose sharp eyes and active wits had missed nothing.
“Yes, I’ll go with you,” said Tom, with an embarrassed grin. “But I warn you that I don’t know anything about trapping fur.”