Ungava Bob - A Winter's Tale by Dillon Wallace
page 31 of 251 (12%)
page 31 of 251 (12%)
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It was a porcupine lumbering awkwardly away. He easily killed it with a stick, and picking it up by its tail, was about to turn back into the trail when a fresh axe cutting caught his eye. "Now who's been here, lads?" said he, looking at it closely. "None o' th' planters has been inside of th' Traverspine, an' no Mountaineers has left th' post yet." The others joined him and scrutinized the cutting, then looked for other human signs. Near by they found the charred wood of a recent fire and some spruce boughs that had served for a bed within a day or two, which was proved by their freshly broken ends. It had been the couch of a single man. "Micmac John, sure!" said Ed. "An' what's he doin' here?" asked Bill. "He has no traps or huntin' grounds handy t' this." "I'm thinkin' 'tis no good he's after," said Dick. "'Tis sure he, an' he'll be givin' us trouble, stealin' our fur an' maybe worse. But if _I_ gets hold o' he, he'll be sorry for his meddlin', if meddlin' he's after, an' it's sure all he's here for." They hurried back to pitch camp, and when the fire was made the porcupine was thrown upon the blaze, and allowed to remain there until its quills and hair were scorched to a cinder. Then Dick, who superintended the cooking, pulled it out, scraped it and dressed it. On either side of the fire he drove a stake and across the tops of |
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