"Yes; said he didn't want it at the mines, an' he allows he'll come back afore the range opens to pick out a hundred and sixty acres somewhere in the Park. Likely as not he'll see you in Georgetown, but yer got some snow climbin' to do. Thar ain't many goin' out now, and I heerd Bill Redmon say he'd have to use 'skis' pretty soon and drag the mail on a sled. When yer goin' out?" Jack thought a minute or two and then replied: "I guess I can make it day after tomorrow. That will be the 17th of January, and I guess 'Red' will bring the pony back and you can feed both of them for me. By the way, I guess I'll have to snowshoe it in about beaver-trappin' time. I've got a little business myself down near the agency." Tracy and Bill eyed each other quizzically and tried to guess the mission, but Jack gave them no satisfaction. "I'll be back here by the middle of April, if not before. Beaver begin to chew the trees down in early March, don't they?" "Yes," said Tracy; "but it gets lonesome as all git out before Aprile. If yer comin' in that soon, why in Christmas don't yer stay now? We've got grub enough and we can go back in the timber, mebbe so, and ketch a grizzly or cinnamon about six weeks from now." "No; can't do it. Got to go back to the States and attend to some business, sure. You can have all the grizzlies that are loose. By the way, you got that silver tip since I left." Jack was admiring a fine skin that was nailed up on the inside of the cabin, taking up the greater portion of a wall ten feet long and eight feet high. "We got that out on the Blue about four weeks ago. I shot him eleven times afore he quit bein' sassy," said Tracy, with little or no concern, as if killing a grizzly was on a par with breaking a broncho. "I'll get twenty-five dollars for that pelt in the summer if I take it to Denver." With the dishes cleared away and everything in readiness for the night, Jack, Tracy and Bill sat around the fireplace smoking their pipes. The pine knots sputtered and glistened with deep, red-inflamed eyes as Jack told of the Rock Creek pow-wows. "You see, old man Meeker has been trying to teach the Utes how to plow, how to subtract and divide and to carry wood, while the squaws crochet, hemstitch and make sofa pillows." "Yes, I see them redskin devils tote firewood," broke in Tracy. "If there's anything an Indian despises it's work. They won't even walk when the snow is belly deep. I've seen six of 'em on one little cayuse wallerin' through big drifts at timber line. Why, durn their pictures, a Ute won't cook if he can beg a bite anywhere, let alone plow, and he'll freeze to death afore gettin' wood for a fire if thar's a squaw within a mile to git it fur him. The trapper told us you would git yer fill of Injuns."