"This was a pretty fair catch, for a change," thought Ralph Kenyon,
as he tied the limp animal to his pack-saddle, and reset the trap,
hoping next time to catch the dead mink's larger mate. He ran a
quick, appraising eye over the load slung across Keno's broad back.
"Pretty good, eh, old boy?" he added aloud, stroking the velvety
nose of his dumb companion on many a solitary hunt. "Now, Keno, you
hang around, and browse on these young cottonwoods, while I do some
figuring. I want to see what I'm likely to get for this next
shipment of pelts."

The old horse, nothing loath, obeyed his young master's behest as
promptly as though he had fully understood the words. Meanwhile,
Ralph found a mossy spot on the shady side of a big gray,
lichen-covered boulder, and, seating himself thereon, with his back
comfortably adjusted to a depression in the rock, he drew a worn
account book from a pocket of his corduroy coat. Moistening his
thumb he began to turn the pages rapidly, until he came to the place
where he had made the last entry in his accounts. With a stubby
pencil, which he had taken from another pocket, he jotted down the
new items:

"So far, one mink, six coon, three skunk, a gray fox, and seventeen
rabbit skins. All told it ought to bring---let me see." He relapsed
into silence, as he estimated the total, and then he sighed deeply.
"Not very much," was his inward comment; "not anywhere near enough!"

Ralph felt that it was high time that he brought to a close his
season's operations with trap and gun. The spring was unusually
early this year, and the fallow truck patches were fairly clamoring