“Well, now, you be doin’ fine.  I finds un not so bad, too—­about th’ best year I ever has, but one.  That were twelve year ago, an’ I gets a rare lot o’ fur that year—­a rare lot—­but I’m not catchin’ all of un myself.  I gets most of un from th’ Injuns.”

“An’ how were un doin’ that now?” asked Bill.

“Now don’t be tellin’ that yarn agin,” broke in Dick.  “Sure Bill’s heard un—­leastways he must ‘a’ heard un.”

“No, I never heard un,” said Bill.

“An’ ain’t been missin’ much then.  ‘Tis just one o’ Ed’s yarns, an’ no truth in un.”

“’Tis no yarn.  ‘Tis true, an’ I could prove un by th’ Injuns.  Leastways I could if I knew where un were, but none o’ that crowd o’ Injuns comes this way these days.”

“What were the yarn, now?” asked Bill.

“I says ’tis no yarn.  ‘Tis what happened t’ me,” asserted Ed, assuming a much injured air.  “As I were sayin’, ‘twere a frosty evenin’ twelve year ago.  I were comin’ t’ my lower tilt, an’ when I gets handy t’ un what does I see but a big band o’ mountaineers around th’ tilt.  Th’ mountaineers was not always friendly in those times as they be now, an’ I makes up my mind for trouble.  I comes up t’ un an’ speaks t’ un pleasant, an’ goes right in th’ tilt t’ see if un be takin’ things.  I finds a whole barrel o’ flour missin’ an’ comes out at un.  They owns up t’ eatin’ th’ flour, an’ they had eat th’ hull barrel t’ one meal—­now ye mind, one meal.  When un eats a barrel o’ flour t’ one meal there be a big band o’ un.  They was so many o’ un I never counted.  They was like t’ be ugly at first, but I looks fierce like, an’ tells un they must gi’ me fur t’ pay for un.  I was so fierce like I scares un—­scares un bad.  I were one man alone, an’ wi’ a bold face I had th’ whole band so scared they each gives me a marten, an’ I has a flat sled load o’ martens from un—­handy t’ a hundred an’ fifty—­an’ if I hadn’t ‘a’ been bold an’ scared un I’d ‘a’ had none.  Injuns be easy scared if un knows how t’ go about it.”

Bill laughed and remarked,

“‘Tis sure a fine yarn, Ed. How does un look t’ be fierce an’ scare folk?”

“A fine yarn!  An’ I tells un ‘tis a gospel truth, an’ no yarn,” asserted Ed, apparently very indignant at the insinuation.

“Bob’s late comin’,” remarked Dick. “‘Tis gettin’ dark.”

“He be, now,” said Bill, “an’ he were sayin’ he’d be gettin’ here th’ night an’ maybe o’ Monday night.  ’Tis strange.”

They ate supper and the evening wore on, and no Bob.  Bill went out several times to listen for the click of snow-shoes, but always came back to say, “No sign o’ un yet.”  Finally it became quite certain that Bob was not coming that night.

“‘Tis wonderful queer now, an’ he promised,” Bill remarked, at length.  “An’ he brought down his fur last trip—­a fine lot.”

“Where be un?” asked Dick.

Bill looked for the fur.  It was nowhere to be found, and, mystified and astounded, he exclaimed:  “Sure th’ fur be gone!  Bob’s an’ mine too!”