They all laughed at John’s appetite, which never failed, and Moise gave him two large pieces of trout from the frying-pan. “I’ll suppose those feesh he’ll seem good to you,” said Moise.
“I should say they were good!” remarked Jesse, approvingly. “I like them better all the time.”
“S’pose we no get feesh in the north,” began Moise, “everybody she’ll been starve.”
“That’s right,” said Alex. “The traders couldn’t have traveled in this country without their nets. They got fish enough each night to last them the next day almost anywhere they stopped. You see, sometimes the buffalo or the caribou are somewhere else, but fish can’t get out of the river or the lake, and we always know where to look for them.”
“The dorè, she’ll be good feesh,” continued Moise, “but we’ll not got dorè here. Maybe so whitefeesh over east, maybe so pickerel.”
“You remember how we liked codfish better than salmon up in Alaska when we were on Kadiak Island?” asked Rob. “I wonder if we’ll like trout very long at a time?”
“Whitefeesh she’ll be all right,” Moise smiled. “Man an’ dog both he’ll eat whitefeesh.”
“Well, it’s all right about fish,” Rob remarked, after a time, “but how about the hunt we were talking about? I promised Uncle Dick I’d bring him some bearskins.”
“Black bear or grizzlies?” asked Alex, smiling.