hauled his little tent from where it hung in the wood-shed and beat and folded it into shape for packing. There was a stern-chase on a week-old trail before him, and he was glad of it. From all the troubles of his life heretofore he had been able to escape down the windy trails of the world. But this time he would not leave all which he had done behind him.
The sure, sturdy note of winter was sounding along the land when he and the young breed pulled out that day, heading straight into space, with only a few tangled clues to guide them. The keen air tingled the blood of the forest-men; making them restless with the fret of it; restless for the cry of the trapped animal and for the snow-laid trails and the bite of the forest on their faces. The young breed opened his nostrils to the snow-tang as he swung along, and his bright eyes roved. Even as to the other man these wild rimless woods were his home; and he laughed and swore cheerfully as he fed the thawed fish to the dogs for their evening meal, and came back to the fire, grinning still, and rubbing his hands.
"Voila," he said gaily. "Mais dat vilain Poley kip dem sharp set. Dey do wolf deir viande."
"Nothing works well when it is too fat. I shall have to thin you down, Passpartout, I think."
"Donc! It is to laugh mak' me fat." He threw out a great bellow from his chest. "No one can help dat," he said.
"Don't try," advised Dick. "Everything in this world really is funny, isn't it? Even those things which a man might not think could be funny."
"Eh, bien! Good enough. Dere is tonjours de fun an' dere is tou jours de nouvelle. When a man tire of one ting, dere is de nex' place to trap, an' de nex' girl to like, an' de nex' man to hit if so he wan' to hit. Dere is plenty tout le temps."
"Ah! That is a very good philosophy, Passepartout." Dick looked up at the bulky grinning young fellow in the firelight. "All things are new so long as the man himself is new. But what happens when he gets stale?"
"Je na sais pas. Him like bad fish, I s'pose. Feed him to de dog."
