Henry grunted, and began unlacing his mocassins.
"How many cartridges did you say you had left ?" he asked.
"Three," came the answer.

"An' I wisht 'twas three hundred.

Then I'd show 'em what for, damn 'em!" He shook his fist angrily at the gleaming eyes, and began securely to prop his moccasins before the fire.
"An' I wisht this cold snap'd break," he went on.

"It's ben fifty below for two weeks now.

An' I wisht I'd never started on this trip, Henry.