“Say! you've got a great place here! You here all summer? Hullo! you've got a deer hanging up. Are there many of 'em around here? I'd like to kill a deer first rate. I never have. It's sort of out of season now, isn't it?” “We only kill the bucks,” replied Thorpe. “I like fishing, too,” went on the boy; “are there any here? In the pool? John,” he called to his guide, “bring me my fishing tackle.” In a few moments he was whipping the pool with long, graceful drops of the fly. He proved to be adept. Thorpe and Injin Charley stopped work to watch him. At first the Indian's stolid countenance seemed a trifle doubtful. After a time it cleared. “Good! he grunted. “You do that well,” Thorpe remarked. “Is it difficult?” “It takes practice,” replied the boy. “See that riffle?” He whipped the fly lightly within six inches of a little suction hole; a fish at once rose and struck. The others had been little fellows and easily handled. At the end of fifteen minutes the newcomer landed a fine two-pounder. “That must be fun,” commented Thorpe. “I never happened to get in with fly-fishing. I'd like to try it sometime.” “Try it now!” urged the boy, enchanted that he could teach a woodsman anything. “No,” Thorpe declined, “not to-night, to-morrow perhaps.” The other Indian had by now finished the erection of a tent, and had begun to cook supper over a little sheet-iron camp stove. Thorpe and Charley could smell ham. “You've got quite a pantry,” remarked Thorpe. “Won't you eat with me?” proffered the boy hospitably. But Thorpe declined. He could, however, see canned goods, hard tack, and condensed milk. In the course of the evening the boy approached the older man's camp, and, with a charming diffidence, asked permission to sit awhile at their fire. He was full of delight over everything that savored of the woods, or woodscraft. The most trivial and everyday affairs of the life interested him. His eager questions, so frankly proffered, aroused even the taciturn Charley to eloquence. The construction of the shelter, the cut of a deer's hide, the simple process of “jerking” venison,--all these awakened his enthusiasm. “It must be good to live in the woods,” he said with a sigh, “to do all things for yourself. It's so free!” The men's moccasins interested him. He asked a dozen questions about them,--how they were cut, whether they did not hurt the feet, how long they would wear. He seemed surprised to learn that they are excellent in cold weather. “I thought ANY leather would wet through in the snow!” he cried. “I wish I could get a pair somewhere!” he exclaimed. “You don't know where I could buy any, do you?” he asked of Thorpe. “I don't know,” answered he, “perhaps Charley here will make you a pair.” “WILL you, Charley?” cried the boy. “I mak' him,” replied the Indian stolidly.