Part 13 (1/2)
de hine legs an' you got um done--all de fur inside, and de flesh side out.”
Connie watched with interest while the Indian skillfully drew the pelt from the carca.s.s and stretched it upon splints prepared with his belt ax.
”Now you skin nex' wan,” smiled the Indian. ”I bet you mak' de good job.
You learn queek.”
Connie set to work with a will and, in truth, he did a very creditable job, although it took him three times as long as it had taken the Indian, and his pelt showed two small knife cuts. ”Now what do we do with 'em?” he asked when he had his skin all stretched.
”Dry um.”
Connie started to place them close to the hot stove, but 'Merican Joe shook his head.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Merican Joe climbed the tree and a few minutes later Connie heard the blows of his belt ax as he hacked at the limb that held the clog.”
Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover]
”No! Dat ain' no good!” he exclaimed. ”Dat fat she melt an' de heat she dry de skin too queek, an' she git, w'at you call, grease burnt. Dat why we nail de bear skin on de outside of de cabin. De skin she got to dry in de cold. W'en de frost dry um, den we mus' got to sc.r.a.pe all de fat an' de meat off, an' wash um, and dry um ag'in--den we got de good prime skin.” The Indian fastened a stout piece of line into the nose of each pelt, and climbing the ladder, secured them to one of the poles of the _cache_ in such manner that they hung free to the air, and yet out of reach of any prowling animals. When they returned to the cabin 'Merican Joe proceeded to cut thick slices from the hams of the two lynx carca.s.ses.
”Is that good for bait?” asked the boy.
'Merican Joe laughed. ”Dat too mooch good for bait!” he exclaimed. ”We goin' have dat meat for de breakfas'.”
”For breakfast!” cried Connie. ”You don't mean you're going to eat lynx meat! Why, a lynx is a cat!”
”Mebbe-so cat--mebbe-so ain't. Dat don't mak' no differ' w'at you call um. You wait, I fry um an' I bet you t'ink dat de bes' meat you ever eat.”
”I don't believe I could tackle a cat,” grinned the boy.
”Dat better you forgit dat cat business. If it good, it good. If it ain'
good, it ain' good. W'at you care you call um cat--dog--pig? Plenty t'ing good to eat w'en you fin' dat out. De owl, she good meat. De musquash, w'at you call de mushrat--dat don' hurt de meat 'cause you call um rat! De skunk mak' de fine meat, an' de porkypine, too.”
”I guess Injuns ain't so particular what they eat,” laughed Connie.
”De Injun know w'at de good meat is,” retorted 'Merican Joe. ”By golly, I seen de white mans eat de rotten cheese, an' she stink so bad dat mak'
de Injun sick.”
”I guess you win!” laughed the boy. ”I've seen 'em too--but you bet I never ate any of it!”
”You try de _loup cervier_ steak in de mornin',” the Indian urged earnestly. ”If you don' lak him I bet you my dogs to wan chaw tobac'!”
”I don't chew tobacco,” Connie grinned, ”but seeing you've gone to all the trouble of slicing the meat up, I'll take a chance.”
”How you lak him, eh?” 'Merican Joe grinned across the little table at Connie next morning, as the boy gingerly mouthed a small piece of lynx steak. Connie swallowed the morsel, and, without answering, took another bite. There was nothing gingerly about the action this time, and the Indian noted that the boy's jaws worked with evident relish.
”Well,” answered Connie, when the second morsel had gone the way of the first, ”if the rest of the things you were telling me about are as good as this, all I've got to say is: Bring 'em along!”
Daylight found them on the trap line with sleeping bags and provisions in their packs, for it would require at least two days to ”fresh up” the line.
At noon they camped for lunch almost at the end of the line of steel traps. So far they had been unusually lucky. Only two traps had been sprung empty, and eight martens and a mink were in the pack sacks. Only two of the martens, and the mink were alive when found and Connie quickly learned the Indian method of killing a trapped animal--a method that is far more humane and very much easier when it comes to skinning the animal than the white man's method of beating him on the head with the ax handle. With the latter practice the skull is crushed with the result that there is a nasty mess which discolours the flesh side of the pelt and makes very disagreeable work for the skinner.
The first live marten was in one of the ”ground set” traps and upon the approach of the trappers he arched his back and stood at bay, emitting sharp squalls and growls of anger. 'Merican Joe simply planted his snowshoe on him, pressing him into the snow, then with one hand he reached down and secured a firm hold on the animal's neck and gradually worked the fore part of his body from under the snowshoe, taking care to keep the hinder part held fast by the web. Snapping the mitten from his other hand, the Indian felt just behind the lower ribs for the animal's heart, and grasping it firmly between thumb and fingers he pulled quickly downward. The heart was thus torn from its position and the animal died instantly and painlessly. The mink which was suspended by the tossing pole, and the other marten which had fallen victim to one of the ”tree sets,” of course, could not be held by the snowshoe. As both were caught by the fore leg, a loop of copper wire was slipped about their hind legs and the animals thus stretched out and dispatched in the same manner as the first.