“And, thanking you a thousand times,” replied Seth, “but I guess and calculate that at his time of life, civilisation would kind o’ go against the grain of old Seth.”
“And yet,” persisted McBain, “it does seem sad for you to go away back again to that lone wilderness into voluntary exile. What will you do when you fall ill? We all must die, you know.”
“Bless you, sir,” said Seth, “we old trappers don’t mind dying a bit. We’re just like the deer of the forest. We seldom sicken for more than about an hour. We simply falls quietly asleep and wakes no more under the moon.”
So no more was said to Seth in order to dissuade him from his intention of going home, as he called it. But when Seth’s cape was sighted at last, it was quite evident that our heroes had no intention of permitting him to go away empty-handed. They could not pay him for his services in coin. That would have been of little avail for a man in his position.
But a boat-load of stores of every kind was sent on shore with him, and Seth found himself richer by far than ever he had expected to be in his life.
“Hurrah!” cried Seth, when he had reached his clearing and found his cot still standing, “hurrah! the blueskins have been here, I can see their trails all about. What a blessing I buried my waliables. They hain’t been near the place.”
The crew of the Snowbird helped the old man to dig up “his waliables,” and he pronounced them all intact and untouched. They also did all they could to reinstate him in comfort in his cottage.
Then, with three ringing cheers, and many a hearty good-bye and hand-shake, away they went to their yacht, and left poor Seth and Plunket to their loneliness.