"Wal, I didn't like you fellers—kinder struck me as bein' a bit too perky, an' when you scares them ducks away, an' that leetle feller hollers—wal, pardner, I ain't got the best disposition in the world, an' it riled me more'n I was able ter stand."
"That's all right, Joe. You didn't know us," laughed Bob.
"'Tain't all right, pardner—not by a long shot, it ain't."
"Surly Joe" paused, his eyes shifting uneasily.
"Wal, I may as well out with it," he said, desperately. "You fellers killed a b'ar?"
"Sure we did," cried Bob, in surprise. "How did you know?"
"'Cause I seen yer a-luggin' ther hide in the cave," was the surprising answer.
"Well, well," said Bob. "This is a surprise, all right. Where in the dickens were you, Joe?"
"Pretty close by, pardner. But that ain't all—honest, pardner, I hates ter tell yer. I says, says I, 'A hard workin' trapper needs the b'ar's pelt more'n a parcel of sassy young snipes; an' they ain't treated me right, nuther; an'—wal, I ups and takes it. Thar, it's out now," and Joe wiped his perspiring face, and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
"Jiminy crickets—another surprise," murmured Bob.