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Updated: May 13, 2025
He raised himself to a squatting posture, with his knee-bones to his chin, the wisps of hair tumbling upon his naked chest. "It's dark heap dark!" he whimpered, between long gasps. "Can't strike the trail can't find the home-camp. Herb Herb Heal ole pard 'twas I took 'em the skins. 'Twas a dog's trick. Take it out o' my hide if yer wants to yah! Heap sick!"
"It's the home-camp." "We'll camp to-ge-ther?" "We will again, sure." The last stone pounded down on the heap above the old camp; and Herb gently laid flat the body of the man he had sworn to shoot, closed the malformed eyes, and turned away, that the fellows he was guiding might not see his face. They buried Chris upon Katahdin's breast.
"We may travel a longish ways farther, and not strike such a fair camping-ground, unless we go on up the side of the mountain to that old home-camp I was telling you about, which we built when we were trapping. I guess it's standing yet, and 'twould be a snug shelter; but we'd have a hard pull to reach it this evening. What d'ye say, boys?"
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