"Is he a hunter?"
"Guess he is. He'd rather hunt than earn a living, any day. But he's about the best rifle-shot there is anywhere around here."
Port felt that such a man had a great claim to public respect, but he walked on without a word more until they were outside of the kitchen-door.
There on the snow lay the fat doe and the antlered buck, and it made Porter Hudson's very fingers tingle to look on them.
"Where'd you get 'em, Sile?" asked Corry.
"Not more'n a mile up this way from Mink Lake; jest whar the split comes in from towards the old loggin'-camp."
"How'd you get 'em to the village?"
"Well, of course I had my pony along. Allers do. Made a pole-drag right thar. I had two more deer to fetch in, and they wasn't more'n jest a good load for a drag."
He was a long, lanky, grizzled sort of man, with keen gray eyes, and a stoop in his shoulders.
"What's a pole-drag?" asked Port.