“What do you mean—that we must be careful or some one will steal our things?” demanded Jesse.
“No, there isn’t so very much danger of theft—that is, from the breeds or others along the way; they’ll steal whisky, but nothing else, usually. But it’s a rough country, and there are many portages, much changing of cargoes. Each chap must keep his eye on his own kit all the time, and look out for himself the best way he can. That’s the lesson of this great North. It’s the roughest country in the world. As you know, there is an old saying among the fur-traders that no man has ever whipped the North.
“I was thinking more especially about the dogs,” he added, nodding toward the luggage on which the boys were sitting.
“And what do you mean about the dogs, Uncle Dick?” asked Jesse.
“Well, those are the beggars that will steal you blind. They’ll eat anything they can swallow and some things they can’t. I’ve had them eat the heels off a pair of boots, and moccasins are like pie for them. They would eat your hat if you left it lying—eat the pack-straps off your bag. So don’t leave anything lying around, and remember that goes now, and all the way through the trip.”
“Are there dogs all the way through?” asked John, curiously.
“Yes, we’re in the dog country, and will be for five thousand miles down one river and across and up the other. You’ll not see a cow or a sheep, and only two horses, in the next three months. North of Smith’s Landing, which is at the head of the Mackenzie River proper, there never has been a horse, and I think there never will be one. The dogs do all the hauling and all the packing—and they are always hungry. That’s what the fellows tell me who have been up there—the whole country starves almost the year round, and the dogs worst of all. I’m just telling you these things to be useful to you, because we’ve got nothing along which we can afford to spare.”
“When are we going to start, Uncle Dick?” demanded Jesse, once more, somewhat mindful of the recent laughter of his companions at his eagerness.
“Well, that’s hard to say,” replied his elder relative. “I’d like to start to-morrow morning. It all depends on the stage of the water. If a flood came down the Athabasca to-morrow you’d see pretty much every breed in that saloon over there stop drinking and hurry to the scows.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” asked John.