Why, man, I
shall put on my Canadian hunting shirt over this,"--and with the word he
slipped a loose frock, shaped much like a wagoner's smock, or a Flemish
blouse, over his head, with large full sleeves, reaching almost to his
knees, and belted round his waist, by a broad worsted sash. This
excellent garment was composed of a thick coarse homespun woollen,
bottle-green in color, with a fringe and bindings of dingy red, to match
the sash about his waist. From the sash was suspended an otter skin
pouch, containing bullets and patches, nipple wrench and turn-screw, a
bit of dry tow, an oiled rag, and all the indispensables for rifle
cleaning; while into it were thrust two knives--one a broad two-edged
implement, with a stout buck-horn haft, and a blade of at least twelve
inches--the other a much smaller weapon, not being, hilt and all, half
the length of the other's blade, but very strong, sharp as a razor, and
of surpassing temper. While he was fitting all these in their proper
places, and slinging under his left arm a small buffalo horn of powder,
he continued talking:
"Now," he said, "if you take my advice, you'll go into my room, and
there, hanging against the wall, you'll find my winter shooting jacket,
I had it made last year when I went up to Maine, of pilot cloth, lined
throughout with flannel.
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