“Right, sir. Roast venison for dinner to-day. The deer meat will be prime.”
Steve nodded, and was turning away, when his eyes encountered those of the boy, who had evidently forgotten all about his “mither,” and was grinning at him derisively, and in a way which made Steve’s fingers tingle to tighten up into a fist and teach the lad a lesson. But he went out and shut the door, before going forward to where the four Norwegians were fending off the ice.
“Morning,” he cried; and the great, sturdy fellows greeted him with a pleasant smile on their grave faces.
“Glad to see you out and well, Mr Steve,” said Johannes; and the others uttered something which was evidently meant as acquiescence in their companion’s greeting.
“Oh, I’m all right,” said Steve, “only a bit cold; but I say, have all you chaps had plenty of breakfast?”
“Plenty, sir, plenty!” they cried, as they levelled their poles to meet the charge of a great block which was coming on to them.
The concussion staggered them a little, but the mass of ice was turned aside, and they had a few minutes’ respite.
“What an awful storm!” said Steve.
“Yes, sir, it was. The worst we were ever in,” replied Johannes; “but it’s brought us close up to a grand land for hunting.”
“What, that land over yonder?” cried Steve, pointing.