“Time enough to trouble about that to-morrow, Alex. Sit down and have a cup of tea.”
They still had one or two of their smoke-dried trout and a bit of the half-dried caribou which they had brought down with them. On the whole they made a very fair meal.
“Try some of my biscuits, Alex,” suggested John. “I baked them in the spider—mixed the dough all by myself in the sack, the way Moise does. Aren’t they fine?”
“You’re quite a cook, Mr. John. But I’m sorry we’re so nearly out of meat,” said Alex. “You can’t travel far on flour and tea.”
“Won’t there be any game in the river below the Rockies?” asked Rob.
“Oh yes, certainly; plenty of bear and moose, and this side of the Peace River Landing, wherever there are any prairies, plenty of grouse too; but I don’t think we’ll get back to the prairies—the valley is over a thousand feet deep east of the mountains.”
“Alex, how many moose have you ever killed in all your life?” asked Rob, curiously.
“Three hundred and eighty-seven,” answered Alex, quietly.
The boys looked at each other in astonishment. “I didn’t know anybody ever killed that many moose in all the world,” said John.
“Many people have killed more than I have,” replied Alex. “You see, at times we have to hunt for a living, and if we don’t get a moose or something of the kind we don’t eat.”