The storm had reached the height of its fury. The wind roared and moaned like a famished wild thing denied its kill. Occasionally a venturesome gust would find its way down the chimney to send thin puffs of smoke to linger in the air and fill the cabin with the sweet perfume of the burning alder.
“I’m the trapper of the mount’n top, A ring-tail-snorter an’ a dead-sure shot. I’m wild, I’m woolly an’ full o’ fleas, I’ve never bin’ curried below the knees, I live on the fruit o’ the prickly pear, An’ I play in the brush with the grizzly bear.”
“Here’s hopin’ ye’ll never see the back o’ yer neck,” he added. Then placing the cup to his lips he drained the contents with one great gulp. John’s jaws were well-nigh toothless, and as the fiery liquor scorched his throat his leathery cheeks folded and unfolded like the pleats of an accordion.
“Wow!” he yelped, “she’s sure got a kick.”
The humorous toast and the trapper’s facial contortions sent Andy into paroxysms of laughter.
“Strike me blind!” he gasped, as he held his sides. “I never——” His eyes rested again on the trapper’s convulsed features. Speech failed him and he sank writhing to a chair.
When finally they climbed the ladder to their bunks the rain had ceased and a brilliant moon flooded the valley with a white light.
Donald awakened as the first grey streaks of dawn brightened the dusty windows of the loft. The air was suddenly filled with the sweet song of birds. Wild-fowl quacked and splashed in the waters of the lake. The aroma of coffee and frying bacon and the pungent odour of wood smoke was wafted strongly from below.
Suddenly the trapper’s shaggy head protruded through the opening at the top of the ladder. “Get out o’ the hay an’ let the sun shine on ye!” he boomed.
“Now, let’s get busy,” said Gillis, when breakfast was over. “The first thing to do is to find a good spot to pitch our tent.”
“You’ll find a deserted cabin at t’other end o’ the lake that’ll be a whole lot more comfortable nor a tent,” informed the trapper.
The cabin of cedar logs proved to be in good repair and the location excellent.
“A couple of days’ work,” observed Gillis, “an’ I can fix her up so’s we’ll be as snug as a bug in a rug.”
John had spent the forenoon in baking. Cakes, pies, doughnuts and cookies were placed at regular intervals on the shelves in platters and tins tipped at an angle to make the display more effective. It was an exhibit of pastry that any housewife might envy. The unstinted praise of his guests was like music to the trapper’s ears.