The Timber Wolves
The cold increased, although snow fell but little, which Dick
considered good luck, chiefly on Albert's account. He wanted the
hardening process to continue and not to be checked by thaws and
permeating dampness. Meanwhile, they plunged with all the energy
and fire of youth into the task of fur hunting. They had already
done much in that respect, but now it was undertaken as a
vocation. They became less scrupulous about sparing the
buffaloes, and they shot more than twenty in the defiles of the
mountains, gathering a fine lot of robes. Several more skins of
the bear, grizzly, and silver tip were added to their collection,
and the elk also furnished an additional store. Many wolverines
were taken in dead falls and snares, and their skins were added
to the rapidly growing heap.
They baited the trap gun once more, hoping that a fifth cougar
might prove rash enough to dare it. No cougar came, but on the
third night a scornful grizzly swallowed the deer meat as a
tidbit, and got a bullet in the neck for his carelessness. In
his rage, he tore the trap to pieces and tossed the rifle to one
side, but, fortunately, he did not injure the valuable weapon,
his attention turning instantly to something else. Later on the
boys dispatched him as he lay wounded upon the ground.
Their old clothing was now about worn out and it also became
necessary to provide garments of another kind in order to guard
against the great cold. Here their furs became invaluable; they
made moccasins, leggings, caps, and coats alike of them, often
crude in construction, but always warm.
They found the beaver father in the mountains, as Dick had
surmised, and trapped them in great abundance. This was by far
their most valuable discovery, and they soon had a pack of sixty
skins, which Dick said would be worth more than a thousand
dollars in any good market. They also made destructive inroads
upon the timber wolves, the hides of which were more valuable
than those of any other wolf. In fact, they made such havoc that
the shrewd timber wolf deserted the valley almost entirely.
As the boys now made their fur hunting a business, they attended
to every detail with the greatest care. They always removed the
skin immediately after the death of the animal, or, if taken in a
trap, as soon after as possible. Every particle of fat or flesh
was removed from the inside of the skin, and they were careful at
the same time never to cut into the skin itself, as they knew
that the piercing of a fur with a knife would injure its value
greatly. Then the skin was put to dry in a cold, airy place,
free alike from the rays of the sun or the heat of a fire. They
built near the cabin a high scaffold for such purposes, too high
and strong for any wild beast to tear down or to reach the furs
upon it. Then they built above this on additional poles a
strongly thatched bark roof that would protect the skins from
rain, and there they cured them in security.
"I've heard," said Dick, "that some trappers put preparations or
compounds on the skins in order to cure them, but since we don't
have any preparations or compounds we won't use them. Besides,
our furs seem to cure up well enough without them."
Dick was right. The cold, dry air of the mountains cured them
admirably. Two or three times they thought to help along the
process by rubbing salt upon the inner sides. They could always
get plenty of salt by boiling out water from the salt springs,
but as they seemed to do as well without it, they ceased to take
the trouble.
The boys were so absorbed now in their interesting and profitable
tasks that they lost all count of the days. They knew they were
far advanced into a splendid open winter, but it is probably that
they could not have guessed within a week of the exact day.
However, that was a question of which they thought little.
Albert's health and strength continued to improve, and with the
mental stimulus added to the physical, the tide of life was
flowing very high for both.
They now undertook a new work in order to facilitate their
trapping operations. The beaver stream, and another that they
found a little later, ran far back into the mountains, and the
best trapping place was about ten miles away. After a day's work
around the beaver pond, they had to choose between a long journey
in the night to the cabin or sleeping in the open, the latter not
a pleasant thing since the nights had become so cold. Hence,
they began the erection of a bark shanty in a well-sheltered cove
near the most important of the beaver localities. This was a
work of much labor, but, as in all other cases, they persisted
until the result was achieved triumphantly.
They drove two stout, forked poles deep into the ground, leaving
a projection of about eight feet above the earth. The poles
themselves were about eight feet apart. From fork to fork they
placed a strong ridgepole. Then they rested against the
ridgepole from either side other and smaller poles at an angle of
forty or fifty degrees. The sloping poles were about a foot and
a half apart. These poles were like the scantling or inside
framework of a wooden house and they covered it all with spruce
and birch bark, beginning at the bottom and allowing each piece
to overlap the one beneath it, after the fashion of a shingled
roof. They secured pieces partly with wooden pegs and partly
with other and heavier wooden poles leaned against them. One end
of the shelter was closed up with bark wholly, secured with
wooden pegs, and the other end was left open in order that its
tenants might face the fire which would be built three or four
feet in front of it. They packed the floor with dead leaves, and
put on the top of the leaves a layer of thick bark with the
smooth side upward.
The bark shanty was within a clump of trees, and its open side
was not fifteen feet from the face of an abrupt cliff. Hence
there was never any wind to drive the smoke from the fire back
into their faces, and, wrapped in their furs, they slept as
snugly in the shanty as if they had been in the cabin itself.
But they were too wise to leave anything there in their absence,
knowing that it was not sufficient protection against the larger
wild animals. In fact, a big grizzly, one night when they were
at the cabin, thrust his nose into the shanty and, lumbering
about in an awkward and perhaps frightened manner, knocked off
half of one of the bark sides. It took nearly a day's work to
repair the damage, and it put Dick in an ill humor.
"I'd like to get a shot at that bear!" he exclaimed. "He had no
business trying to come into a house when he was not invited."
"But he is an older settler than we are," said Albert, in a
whimsical tone.
Dick did get a shot at a bear a few days later, and it was a
grizzly, at that. The wound was not fatal, and the animal came
on with great courage and ferocity. A second shot from Dick did
not stop him and the boy was in great danger. But Albert, who
was near, sent two heavy bullets, one after the other, into the
beast, and he toppled over, dying. It was characteristic of the
hardy life they were leading and its tendency toward the
repression of words and emotion that Dick merely uttered a brief,
"Thanks, Al, you were just in time," and Albert nodded in reply.
The skin of old Ephraim went to join that of his brother who had
been taken sometime before, and Dick himself shot a little later
a third, which contributed a fine skin.
The boys did not know how hard they were really working, but
their appetites would have bee a fine gauge. Toiling incessantly
in a crisp, cold air, as pure as any that the world affords, they
were nearly always hungry. Fortunately, the happy valley, their
own skill and courage, and the supplies that Dick had brought
from the last wagon train furnished them an unlimited larder.
Game of great variety was their staple, but they had both flour
and meal, from which, though they were sparing of their use, they
made cakes now and then. They had several ways of preparing the
Indian meal that Dick had taken from the wagon. They would boil
it for about an hour, then, after it cooled, would mix it with
the fat of game and fry it, after which the compound was eaten in
slices. They also made mealcakes, johnnycakes and hoecakes.
Albert was fond of fish, especially of the fine trout that they
caught in the little river, and soon he invented or discovered a
way of cooking them that provided an uncommon delicacy for their
table. He would slit the trout open, clean it, and the season it
with salt and also with pepper, which they had among their stores.
Then he would lay the fish in the hot ashes of a fire that had
burned down to embers, cover it up thoroughly with the hot ashes
and embers, and let it cook thirty or forty minutes--thirty minutes
for the little fellows and forty minutes for the big ones. When he
thought the fish was done to the proper turn, he would take it from
the ashes, clean it, and then remove the skin, which would almost
peel off of its own accord.
The fish was then ready for the eating, and neither Dick nor
Albert could ever bear to wait. The flesh looked so tempting and
the odor was so savory that hunger instantly became acute.
"They are so good," said Albert, "because my method of cooking
preserves all the juices and flavors of the fish. Nothing
escapes."
"Thanks, professor," said Dick. "You must be right, so kindly
pass me another of those trout, and be quick about it."
It is a truth that both boys became epicures. Their valley
furnished so much, and they had a seasoning of hard work and open
mountain air that was beyond compare. They even imitated Indian
and trapper ways of cooking geese, ducks, quail, sage hens, and
other wild fowl that the region afforded. They could cook these
in the ashes as they did the trout, and they also had other
methods. Albert would take a duck, cut it open and clean it, but
leave the feathers on. Then he would put it in water, until the
feathers were soaked thoroughly, after which he would cover it up
with ashes, and put hot coals on top of the ashes. When the bird
was properly cooked and drawn from the ashes, the skin could be
pulled off easily, taking the feathers, of course, with it. Then
a duck, sweet, tender, and delicate, such as no restaurant could
furnish, was ready for the hardy youngsters. At rare intervals
they improve on this by stuffing the duck with seasoning and
Indian meal. Now and then they served a fat goose the same way
and found it equally good.
They cooked the smaller birds in a simpler manner, especially
when they were at the bark shanty, which they nicknamed the
"Suburban Villa." The bird was plucked of its feathers, drawn
and washed, and then they cut it down the back in order to spread
it out. Nothing was left but to put the bird on the end of a
sharp stick, hold it over the coals, and turn it around until it
was thoroughly broiled or roasted. They also roasted slices of
big game in the same way.
As Albert was cooking a partridge in this manner one evening at
the Suburban Villa, Dick, who was sitting on his buffalo-robe
blanket in the doorway, watched him and began to make comparisons.
He recalled the boy who had left Omaha with the wagon train six or
eight months before, a thin, spiritless fellow with a slender, weak
neck, hollow, white cheeks, pale lips, and listless eyes. That boy
drew coughs incessantly from a hollow chest, and the backs of his
hands were ridged when the flesh had gone away, leaving the bones
standing up. This boy whom Dick contemplated was quite a different
being. His face was no longer white, it was instead a mixture of
red and brown, and both tints were vivid. Across one cheek were some
brier scratches which he had acquired the day before, but which he had
never noticed. The red-brown cheeks were filled out with the effects
of large quantities of good food digested well. As he bent over the
fire, a chest of good width seemed to puff out with muscle and wind
expansion. Despite the extreme cold, his sleeves were rolled up
to the elbow, and the red wrists and hands were well covered with
tough, seasoned flesh. The eyes that watched the roasting bird
were intent, alert, keenly interested in that particular task,
and in due course, in any other that might present itself.
Dick drew a long breath of satisfaction. Providence had treated
them well. Then he called loudly for his share of the bird,
saying that he was starving, and in a few moments both fell to
work.
Their fur operations continued to extend. They had really found
a pocket, and isolated corner in the high Rockies where the
fur-bearing animals, not only abundant, were also increasing. It
was, too, the dead of winter, the very best time for trapping,
and so, as far as their own goings and comings were concerned,
they were favored further by the lucky and unusual absence of
snow. They increased the number of their traps--dead falls, box
traps, snares, and other kinds, and most of them were successful.
They knew instinctively the quality of the furs that they
obtained. They could tell at a glance whether they were prime,
that is, thick and full, and as they cured them and baled them,
they classified them.
Constant application bred new ideas. In their pursuit of furs,
they found that they were not quite so sparing of the game as
they had been at first. Some of their scruples melted away.
Albert now recalled a device of trappers of which he had read.
This was the use of a substance generally called barkstone, which
they found to be of great help to them in the capture of that
animal.
The barkstone or castoreum, as it is commercially known, was
obtained principally from the beaver himself. The basis of it
was an acrid secretion with a musky odor of great power, found in
two glands just under the root of the beaver's tail. Each gland
was from one and one half to two inches in length. The boys cut
out these glands and squeezed the contents into an empty tin
can. This at first was of a yellowish-red color, but after a
while, when it dried, it became a light brown.
This substance formed the main ingredient of barkstone, and in
their medicine chest they found a part of the remainder. The
secretion was transferred to a bottle and the mixed with it
essence of peppermint and ground cinnamon. As Albert remembered
it, ground nutmeg also was needed, but as they had no nutmeg
they were compelled to take their chances without it. Then they
poured whisky on the compound until it looked like a paste.
Then the bottle was stopped up with the greatest care, and in
about a week, when they stole a sniff or two at it, they found
that the odor had increased ten or a dozen times in power.
They put eight or ten drops of the barkstone upon the bait for
the beaver, or somewhere near the trap, and, despite some defects
in the composition, it proved an extraordinary success. The
wariest beaver of all would be drawn by it, and their beaver
bales grew faster than any other.
Dick calculated one day that they had at least five thousand
dollars worth of furs, which seemed a great sum to both boys. It
certainly meant, at that time and in that region, a competence,
and it could be increased greatly.
"Of course," said Dick, "we'll have to think some day of the way
in which we must get these furs out, and for that we will need
horses or mules, but we won't bother our heads about it yet."
After the long period of clear, open weather, the delayed snow
came. It began to fall one evening at twilight, when both boys
were snug in the cabin, and it came in a very gentle, soothing
way, as if it meant no harm whatever. Big, soft flakes fell as
softly as the touch of down, but every time the boys looked out
they were still coming in the same gentle but persistent way.
The next morning the big flakes still came down and all that day
and all the next night. When the snow stopped it lay five feet
deep on the level, and uncounted feet deep in the gullies and
canyons.
"We're snowed in," said Albert in some dismay, "and we can't go
to our traps. Why, this is likely to last a month!"
"We can't walk through it," said Dick meditatively, "but we can
walk on it. We've got to make snowshoes. They're what we need."
"Good!" said Albert with enthusiasm. "Let's get to work at
once."
Deep snows fall in Illinois, and both, in their earlier boyhood,
had experimented for the sake of sport with a crude form of
snowshoe. Now they were to build upon this slender knowledge,
for the sake of an immediate necessity, and it was the hardest
task that they had yet set for themselves. Nevertheless, it was
achieved, like the others.
They made a framework of elastic stripes of ash bent in the
well-known shape of the snowshoe, which bears some resemblance
to the shape of the ordinary shoe, only many times larger and
sharply pointed at the rear end. Its length was between five and
six feet, and the ends were tightly wound with strips of hide.
This frame was bent into the shoe shape after it had been soaked
in boiling water.
Then they put two very strong strips of hide across the front
part of the framework, and in addition passed at least a half
dozen stout bands of hide from strip to strip.
Then came the hard task of attaching the shoe to the foot of the
boy who was to wear it. The ball of the foot was set on the
second crosspiece and the foot was then tied there with a broad
strip of hide which passed over the instep and was secured behind
the ankle. It required a good deal of practice to fasten the
foot so it would not slip up and down; and also in such a manner
that the weight of the shoe would be proportioned to it properly.
They had to exercise infinite patience before two pairs of
snowshoes were finished. There was much hunting in deep snow
for proper wood, many strips and some good hide were spoiled,
but the shoes were made and then another equally as great
confronted the two boys--to learn how to use them.
Each boy put on his pair at the same time and went forth on the
snow, which was now packed and hard. Albert promptly caught
one of his shoes on the other, toppled over, and went down
through the crust of the snow, head first. Dick, although in
an extremely awkward situation himself, managed to pull his
brother out and put him in the proper position, with his head
pointing toward the sky instead of the earth. Albert brushed
the snow out of his eyes and ears, and laughed.
"Good start, bad ending," he said. "This is certainly the
biggest pair of shoes that I ever had on, Dick. They feel at
least a mile long to me."
"I know that mine are a mile long," said Dick, as he, too,
brought the toe of one shoe down upon the heel of the other,
staggered, fell over sideways, but managed to right himself in
time.
"It seems to me," said Albert, "that the proper thing to do is to
step very high and very far, so you won't tangle up one shoe with
the other."
"That seems reasonable," said Dick, "and we'll try it."
They practiced this step for an hour, making their ankles ache
badly. After a good rest they tried it for another hour, and
then they began to make progress. They found that they got along
over the snow at a fair rate of speed, although it remained an
awkward and tiring gait. Nevertheless, one could travel an
indefinite distance, when it was impossible to break one's way
far through five or six feet of packed snow, and the shoes met a
need.
"They'll do," said Albert; "but it will never be like walking on
the solid earth in common shoes."
Albert was right. Their chief use for these objects, so
laboriously constructed, was for the purpose of visiting their
traps, some of which were set at least a dozen miles away. They
wished also to go back to the shanty and see that it was all
right. They found a number of valuable furs in the traps, but
the bark shanty had been almost crushed in by the weight of the
snow, and they spent sometime strengthening and repairing it.
In the course of these excursions their skill with the snowshoes
increased and they were also able to improve upon the construction,
correcting little errors in measurement and balance. The snow
showed no signs of melting, but they made good progress, nevertheless,
with their trapping, and all the furs taken were of the highest
quality.
It would have been easy for them to kill enough game to feed a
small army, as the valley now fairly swarmed with it, although
nearly all of it was of large species, chiefly buffalo, elk, and
bear. There was one immense herd of elk congregated in a great
sheltered space at the northern end of the valley, where they fed
chiefly upon twigs and lichens.
Hanging always upon the flanks of this herd was a band of timber
wolves of great size and ferocity, which never neglected an
opportunity to pull down a cripple or a straying yearling.
"I thought we had killed off all these timber wolves," said
Albert when he first caught sight of the band.
"We did kill off most of those that were here when we came," said
Dick, "but others, I suppose, have followed the game from the
mountains into the valley."
Albert went alone a few days later to one of their traps up the
valley, walking at a good pace on his snowshoes. A small colony
of beavers had been discovered on a stream that came down
between two high cliffs, and the trap contained a beaver of
unusually fine fur. Albert removed the skin, put it on his
shoulder, and, tightening his snowshoes, started back to Castle
Howard.
The snow had melted a little recently, and in many places among
the trees it was not deep, but Albert and Dick had made it a
point to wear their snowshoes whenever they could, for the sake
of the skill resulting from practice.
Albert was in a very happy frame of mind. He felt always now a
physical elation, which, of course, became mental also. It is
likely, too, that the rebound from long and despairing ill health
still made itself felt. None so well as those who have been ill
and are cured! He drew great draughts of the frosty air into his
strong, sound lungs, and the emitted it slowly and with ease. It
was a fine mechanism, complex, but working beautifully.
Moreover, he had an uncommonly large and rich beaver fur over his
shoulder. Such a skin as that would bring twenty-five dollars in
any decent market.
Albert kept to the deep snow on account of his shoes, and was
making pretty good time, when he heard a long howl, varied by a
kind of snappy, growling bark.
"One of those timber wolves," said Albert to himself, "and he has
scented the blood of the beaver."
He thought no more about the wolf until two or three minutes
later when he heard another howl and then two or three more.
Moreover, they were much nearer.
"Now, I wonder what they're after?" thought Albert.
But he went on, maintaining his good pace, and then he heard
behind him a cry that was a long, ferocious whine rather than a
howl. Albert looked back and saw under the trees, where the snow
was lighter, a dozen leaping forms. He recognized at once the
old pests, the timber wolves.
"Now, I wonder what they're after?" he repeated, and then as the
whole pack suddenly gave tongue in a fierce, murderous howl, he
saw that it was himself. Albert, armed though he was--neither
boy ever went forth without gun or revolver--felt the blood grow
cold in every vein. These were not the common wolves of the
prairie, nor yet the ordinary wolf of the East and Middle West,
but the great timber wolf of the Northwest, the largest and
fiercest of the dog tribe. He had grown used to the presence of
timber wolves hovering somewhere near, but now they presented
themselves in a new aspect, bearing down straight upon him, and
pushed by hunger. He understood why they were about to attack
him. They had been able to secure but little of the large game
in the valley, and they were drawn on by starvation.
He looked again and looked fearfully. They seemed to him
monstrous in size for wolves, and their long, yellowish-gray
bodies were instinct with power. Teeth and eyes alike were
gleaming. Albert scarcely knew what to do first. Should he run,
taking to the deepest snow, where the wolves might sink to their
bodies and thus fail to overtake him? But in his own haste he
might trip himself with the long, ungainly snowshoes, and then
everything would quickly be over. Yet it must be tried. He
could see no other way.
Albert, almost unconsciously prayed for coolness and judgment,
and it was well for him that his life in recent months had taught
him hardihood and resource. He turned at once into the open
space, away from the trees, where the snow lay several feet deep,
and he took long, flying leaps on his snowshoes. Behind him came
the pack of great, fierce brutes, snapping and snarling, howling
and whining, a horrible chorus that made shivers chase one
another up and down the boy's spine. But as he reckoned, the
deep snow made them flounder, and checked their speed.
Before him the open ground and the deep snow stretched straight
away beside the lake until it reached the opening between the
mountains in which stood Castle Howard. As Albert saw the good
track lie before him, his hopes rose, but presently, when he
looked back again, they fell with cruel speed. The wolves,
despite the depth of the snow, had gained upon him. Sometimes,
perhaps, it proved hard enough to sustain the weight of their
bodies, and then they more than made up lost ground.
Albert noted a wolf which he took at once to be the leader, not
only because he led all the others, but because also of his
monstrous size. Even in that moment of danger he wondered that a
wolf could grow so large, and that he should have such long
teeth. But the boy, despite his great danger, retained his
presence of mind. If the wolves were gaining, then he must
inflict a check upon them. He whirled about, steadied himself a
moment on his snowshoes, and fired directly at the huge leader.
The wolf had swung aside when he saw the barrel of the rifle
raised, but the bullet struck down another just behind him.
Instantly, some of the rest fell upon the wounded brute and began
to devour him, while the remainder, after a little hesitation,
continued to pursue Albert.
But the boy had gained, and he felt that the repeating rifle
would be for a while like a circle of steel to him. He could
hold them back for a time with bullet after bullet, although it
would not suffice to stop the final rush when it came, if it
came.
Albert looked longingly ahead. He saw a feather of blue smoke
against the dazzling white and silver of the sky, and he knew
that it came from their cabin. If he were only there behind
those stout log walls! A hundred wolves, bigger than the big
leader, might tear at them in vain! And perhaps Dick, too, would
come! He felt that the two together would have little to fear.
The wolves set up their fierce, whining howl again, and once more
it showed that they had gained upon the fleeing boy. He turned
and fired once, twice, three times, four times, as fast as he
could pull the trigger, directly into the mass of the pack. He
could not tell what he had slain and what he had wounded, but
there was a hideous snapping and snarling, and the sight of wolf
teeth flashing into wolf flesh.
Albert ran on and that feather of blue smoke was larger and
nearer. But was it near enough? He could hear the wolves behind
him again. All these diversions were only temporary. No matter
how many of their number were slain or wounded, no matter how
many paused to devour the dead and hurt, enough were always left
to follow him. The pursuit, too, had brought reinforcements from
the lurking coverts of the woods and bushes.
Albert saw that none of his bullets had struck the leader. The
yellowish-gray monster still hung close upon him, and he was to
Albert like a demon wolf, one that could not be slain. He would
try again. He wheeled and fired. The leader, as before, swerved
to one side and a less fortunate wolf behind him received the
bullet. Albert fired two more bullets, and then he turned to
continue his flight. But the long run, the excitement, and his
weakened nerves caused the fatal misstep. The toe of one
snowshoe caught on the heel of the other, and as a shout pierced
the air, he went down.
The huge gray leader leaped at the fallen boy, and as his body
paused a fleeting moment in midair before it began the descent, a
rifle cracked, a bullet struck him in the throat, cutting the
jugular vein and coming out behind. His body fell lifeless on
the snow, and he who had fired the shot came on swiftly, shouting
and firing again.
It was well that Dick, sometime after Albert's departure, had
concluded to go forth for a little hunt, and it was well also
that in addition to his rifle he had taken the double-barreled
shotgun thinking that he might find some winter wild fowl flying
over the snow and ice-covered surface of the lake. His first
shot slew the master wolf, his second struck down another, his
third was as fortunate, his fourth likewise, and then, still
running forward, he bethought himself of the shotgun that was
strapped over his shoulder. He leveled it in an instant and
fairly sprayed the pack of wolves with stinging shot. Before
that it had been each bullet for a wolf and the rest untouched,
but now there was a perfect shower of those hot little pellets.
It was more than they could stand, big, fierce, and hungry timber
wolves though they were. They turned and fled with beaten howls
into the woods.
Albert was painfully righting himself, when Dick gave him his
hand and sped the task. Albert had thought himself lost, and it
was yet hard to realize that he had not disappeared down the
throat of the master wolf. His nerves were overtaxed, and he was
near collapse.
"Thank you, Dick, old boy," he said. "If you hadn't come when
you did, I shouldn't be here."
"No, you wouldn't," replied Dick grimly. "Those wolves eat
fast. But look, Al, what a monster this fellow is! Did you ever
see such a wolf?"
The great leader lay on his side upon the snow, and a full seven
feet he stretched from the tip of his nose to the root of his
stumpy tail. No such wolf as he had ever been put inside a cage,
and it was rare, indeed, to find one so large, even in the
mountains south of the very Far North.
"That's a skin that will be worth something," said Dick, "and
here are more, but before we begin the work of taking them off,
you'll have to be braced up, Al. You need a stimulant."
He hurried back to Castle Howard and brought one of the bottles
of whisky, a little store that they had never touched except in
the compounding of the barkstone for the capture of beaver. He
gave Albert a good stiff drink of it, after which the boy felt
better, well enough, in fact, to help Dick skin the monster wolf.
"It gives me pleasure to do this," said Albert, as he wielded the
knife. "You thought, Mr. Wolf, that I was going to adorn your
inside; instead, your outside will be used as an adornment
trodden on by the foot of my kind."
They secured four other fine and unimpaired skins among the
slain, and after dressing and curing, they were sent to join the
stores in the Annex.