“He’s got us here,” complained Paul, “and he knows we can’t get away, and he’s going to make all he can out of us. The old skinflint!”
“He’s sure a hard un,” admitted Dan, “but we’ll have t’ put up with un. Dad says that kind o’ man always gets what’s comin’ to un some time, an’ what’s comin’ to un ain’t what they likes, neither.”
“And he pretends he’s doing us a great favor! The old pirate!”
“They’s no use thinkin’ about un. Dad says when th’ wind’s ag’in ye, don’t get worked up about un, an’ cross. Take un cheerful, an’ be happy anyway, an’ she’ll shift around fair after awhile.”
So they gave no hint of discontent, but went cheerfully about the tasks assigned them, as though they really enjoyed them, though much of the philosophy of Dan’s “Dad” had to be evoked at times when their spirits flagged, to drive back rising discontent.
But they had enough to eat, and with their new clothing, supplemented by the things they already had, they were warmly enough clad, even when the short days of December came, with biting, bitter cold.
The storm which overtook them on the evening of their arrival at Fort Reliance, continued intermittently for several days. It was the first real storm of winter. Steadily the weather grew colder. By mid-November the bay was frozen solidly as far as eye could reach.
The Indians, save two or three old men and women who did odd chores around the post, had packed their belongings on toboggans in the first lull in the storm, two days after the arrival of Paul and Dan, and the western wilderness had swallowed them in its mysterious depths.
Post life was exceedingly quiet and humdrum, although it possessed something of spice and novelty for the lads, particularly Paul. The dogs always interested him when they were harnessed to the sledge by Jerry, the half-breed Eskimo servant, and he was always glad to be detailed to accompany Jerry and the team when they were engaged in hauling firewood from the near-by forest. The impetuosity and dash of the dogs upon leaving home, and Jerry’s management of them and the sledge, filled Paul with admiration. But Paul was especially fascinated by Jerry’s dexterity in handling the long walrus hide whip, full thirty feet in length. With it Jerry could reach any lagging dog in the team with unerring aim. He could flick a spot no bigger than a dime with the tip of the lash, and he could crack the whip at will with reports like pistol shots.
Under Jerry’s instruction Paul practiced the manipulation of the whip himself, at every opportunity, and he considered it quite an accomplishment when he was able to bring the lash forward and lay it out at full length in front of him. In his early attempts to do this he generally wrapped it around his legs, and occasionally gave himself a stinging blow with the tip end in the back of his neck. But with patient practice he at length found that he could not only strike an object aimed at with considerable skill, but could crack the whip at nearly every attempt.