"Any one would think you did it on purpose," laughed Connie.
"Couldn't of done no better job if I had," grumbled Rickey, and trailed off into a long tirade of self-accusation.
"Get it out of your system," urged the boy, "and then get some of this grub into it, and we'll hit the trail. We might be a lot worse off . We'll make the cabin tonight and you can rest up for a couple of days. The MacPherson patrol may be along before that, but even if it don't come, the old ten-team will jerk us back to Dawson, without your setting a foot on snow."
"Oh, 'tain't that," groaned Rickey, "an' 'tain't the hurtin', though that's bad enough—it bites clean up to the hip. But it's pullin' the fool stunt, an' what the boys'll say when we git back."
"That's all right," soothed Connie. "Most of 'em have pulled stunts like that themselves. Didn't McKeever shoot himself through the arm with his own gun? And didn't Peters let his canoe get away and have to walk thirty miles through swamps and over rock ridges in fly time? And didn't"
