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Updated: May 28, 2025
I dare say you know it as well as I do. Now, there's the nightingale that's the bird for recollectin' and makin' you recollect; and you might say dogs and 'osses too. You can see the memory in the dog's eyes and in the 'oss's face. But you can hear it in the bird's voice and hearin' and smellin' is better nor seein' when it comes to a matter o' rememberin.
Those in the lakes were exceptionally large, but too well fed to be interested in my bait. In the valleys were deep pools made by beavers' dams and in these the trout "holed up" for the winter. Fishing through the ice was common sport years ago. I remember that one of Jim Oss's neighbors brought a mess of trout to him when he gave his homesteading dance in January.
Yes, there was still a chance for me! As soon as I returned from the dance at Jim Oss's, I set about carrying out my plans. I mushed over deep snow back into Wild Basin, to recover the six traps I had abandoned there on that memorable first camp alone, and found my tent crushed under six feet of drifted snow and the region still deserted by game.
In order to cross the Divide, it was necessary to descend from my lofty nine thousand feet elevation to seven thousand five hundred, before starting to climb Flattop trail, which led over to Grand Lake, the last settlement before reaching Oss's place. By sundown I reached a deserted sawmill shack, the last shelter between me and Grand Lake.
The company was put to bed in Oss's one-room house by the simple means of lying down upon the floor fully dressed, feet to the fire. All were up early next morning, and each found some task to do.
Now where are you going to with that meazly-looking cab of yours? you've nearly run your shafts into my 'oss's ribs!" cried he to a cabman who nearly upset him. The Strand was kept alive by a few slip-shod housemaids, on their marrow-bones, washing the doorsteps, or ogling the neighbouring pot-boy on his morning errand for the pewters.
That's him, see, sitting under the yew-tree, in a bottle-green coat with basket buttons, just striking a light on the pommel of his saddle to indulge in a fumigation. Keep your eye on him all day, and if you can lead him over an awkward place, and get him a purl, so much the better. If he'll risk his neck I'll risk my 'oss's."
"Follered hahteh me 'oss's 'eels heveh since. Hevery mo'nin', hit 's 'Cyows, Jack; we's y' cyows? An' horf goos Jack, 'ees hown self, 'n' fetches 'e cyows. "Beats all!" I murmured, thinking how the Munchausens run in all shapes; then, desiring to minister occasion to this somewhat clumsy practitioner, I continued, "I suppose you drop across some whoppers of snakes in your rounds, sir?"
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