“I dare say,” says Rory, “you built your house yourself?”
“Shouldn’t wonder if I did,” said Seth. “And I cleared all the space you see around; I knocked the forest about a bit, I can tell you, gentlemen; the spruce pines that grow to the north and east of the wigwam are left on purpose for shelter, for in winter it does blow a bit here—ay, and snow a bit as well, and there is sometimes a week and more that old Seth can’t put his nose over the threshold. And that’s just the time, gentlemen, that I receives visitors, skiver ’em!”
“What, Indians?” asked Rory.
“Oh! no, sirree,” said the Yankee trapper; “’tain’t likely any Injun could live in a storm that Seth couldn’t stand. No, b’ars, sir, b’ars.”
“Ah! bears! yes, I see, and I suppose you give them a warm reception?”
Seth chuckled to himself as he replied, “Whatever I gives ’em, gentlemen, I serves it up hot. Then their skins come in handy for blankets and such, you see.”
“And the Indians—when do they pay you a visit?”
“After the first fall of snow,” said Seth—“soon as they can chivey along in their caribou sledges.”
“It must be grand fun,” said Allan, “that chiveying along, as you call it, in a caribou sledge.”
“It is,” said Seth, “when once you get used to it, and you have a deer you can trust. I remember the time when the Yacks knew nothing at all about training deer for the work. A party of Norwegians, in a tub of a walrus brig, got stranded round north here some years ago. Well, sir, the Injuns were going to kill every man Jack of them.”