The Boy Scouts of the Geological Survey

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This was a pretty fair catch, for a change, thought Ralph Kenyon, as he tied the limp animal to his pack-saddle, and reset the trap, hoping next time to catch the dead mink’s larger mate. He ran a quick, appraising eye over the load slung across Keno’s broad back. Pretty good, eh, old boy? he added aloud, stroking the velvety nose of his dumb companion on many a solitary hunt. Now, Keno, you hang around, and browse on these young cottonwoods, while I do some figuring. I want to see what I’m likely to get for this next shipment of pelts.