These were very good people, May and I were sure,—quite trustworthy, and of the friendliest description; their welcome had been so extremely warm, and we were indeed thankful that our first encounter with our fellows had been so fortunate.
Mrs Bain was evidently delighted to have a companion of her own sex: she told us that, hard as the life was, her greatest trouble had been that she had no woman near her, and she said things which showed us that she was quite sure we had come to stay.
Perceiving this to be the case, I knew I had better explain. "But we must be moving on, my friend and I," I began. "We are indeed grateful for your kind welcome, but we must get on to Dawson, then to England—we must, indeed. I know all that you have said, Bain—I believe that you are correct; still we cannot stay on here. We must get on to Dawson; surely there's a hotel, or boarding-house, or something of the kind there, where we can stay till the river opens."
They held up their hands in amazement. "Why, what kin' o' daft folk are ye? Hoot, toot!" cried Bain; "gae doon to Dawson! gae hame to England! it's just no' possible, as I've already tell't ye, Mr Singleton. It's no' possible for a man to do it; and for a bairn like you," turning to May, who certainly just then did not look much like battling through that wilderness, "it'd be clear shuicide—that's what it would be. Nay, nay; ye'll just bide here wi' us till the waters open."
"But, Mr Bain," quoth May, "I must get home to my mother. I am strong and able; surely, surely we can move on."
"It's impossible; no possible, my lassie," he answered her. "No; you'll just hae to bide here, as I say, whether ye're willin' or no', until ye can gae doon stream in boats."
"And when will that be?" she asked, and I replied, for I had heard all about it before from Bain, and was pretty sure that he was right. "It will not be till the end of May, perhaps not till June," I told her. "Indeed, I hear that often the Yukon is not open to traffic till the middle of July."
"What a country! what an awful country!" exclaimed May, distressfully. She looked to me for corroboration of what had been stated, or to contradict it, but I could only say I feared that our friends were right. I added, "However, our intention was to go down to Dawson and wait for a boat to leave. From all we hear we are far better off with these good friends than we should be there, and as they assure us we can easily get down long before a boat can possibly navigate the Yukon, I really think we must rest content—nay," I went on, "more than content; thankful for the good quarters we have come to. The only thing is, how can we thus inconvenience these friends? We must come to some arrangement about paying them at least, or else you and I, May, really will start on and camp beside the river for the few weeks that we must pass up here. What d'ye think?"
The dear girl looked at me, sadly dismayed; but our host and hostess declared that I was right, and wise in all that I had said—as to "pay," however, that was a business question which we would now discuss. Mrs Bain would not hear of any discomfort or trouble being caused by May—she should stay with her as her guest and friend, she declared; and Bain said he was more than agreeable. "But, my woman," said he to his wife; "it's no' want o' wull, it's just want o' means, ye ken. We can buy naething here—there's just food enough to last you and me and Sandy and Frank till we expect the river will open. How can we promise to feed these freends? It's just that, and only that, which fashes me."
Here I could simplify matters. "See here," said I; "on our sled is food enough for we two for several weeks, and up at our dug-out, that I've told you of, we have quite a food-supply, enough for a dozen people for several months. I will make an effort and go up there and fetch a load of it. Will that do?"