Bob felt very much elated over this first catch of fur, and was anxious to get at the real trapping.  It was only Tuesday, and Bill would not be at the river tilt until Friday of the following week, but he decided to start back the next morning and set all his traps.  So on Wednesday morning, with a quarter of venison on his flat sled, he turned down over the trail.

Everything went well.  Signs of fur were good and Bob was brimming over with anticipation when a week later he reached the river.

Bill did not arrive until after dark the next evening, and when he pushed the tilt door open he found Bob frying venison steak and a kettle of tea ready for supper.

“Ho, Bob, back ahead o’ me, be un?  Where’d ye get th’ deer’s meat?”

“Knocked un over after you left me.  ‘Tis fine t’ be back an’ see you, Bill.  I’ve been wonderful lonesome, and wantin’ t’ see you wonderful bad.”

“An’ I was thinkin’ ye’d be gettin’ lonesome by now.  You’ll not be mindin’ bein’ alone when you gets used to un.  It’s all gettin’ used t’ un.”

“An’ what’s th’ signs o’ fur?  Be there much marten signs?”

“Aye, some.  Looks like un goin’ t’ be some.  An’ be there much signs on th’ Big Hill trail?  Dick says there’s a lot o’ footin’ his way.”

“I has one marten,” said Bob proudly, “an’ finds good signs.”

“Un has one a’ready!  An’ be un a good un?”

“Not so bad.”

“Well, you be startin’ fine, gettin’ th’ first marten an’ th’ first deer.”

Bill had taken off his adikey and disposed of his things, and they sat down to eat and enjoy a long evening’s chat.

With every week the cold grew in intensity, and with every storm the snow grew deeper, hiding the smaller trees entirely and reaching up towards the lower limbs of the larger ones.  The little tilts were covered to the roof, and only a hole in the white mass showed where the door was.

The sun now described a daily narrowing arc in the heavens, and the hours of light were so few that the hunters found it difficult to cover the distance between their tilts in the little while from dawn to dark.  On moonlight mornings Bob started long before day, and on starlight evenings finished his day’s work after night.  His cheeks and nose were frost-bitten and black, but he did not mind that for he was doing well.  Two weeks before Christmas he brought to the river tilt the fur that he had accumulated.  There were twenty-eight martens, one mink, two red foxes, one cross fox, a lynx and a wolf.  These last two animals he had shot.  Bill was already in the tilt when he arrived, and complimented him on his good showing.

Christmas fell on Wednesday that year, and Bill brought word that Dick and Ed were coming up to spend the day with him and Bob.  They would reach the tilt on Tuesday night and use the remainder of the week in a caribou hunt, as there were good signs of the animals a little way back in the marshes and they were in need of fresh meat.