“Yes.”
“Won’t the green ginger fly?” said Rory.
“I say, boys,” Ralph put in, “this sort of thing positively gives a man a kind of an appetite.”
Rory looked at him with such a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Ralph longed to pinch him.
“Just as if ever you lost yours,” said Rory.
At this moment the sound of a rifle was heard, apparently close to the ship.
“It’s the trapper,” cried Rory; “it’s friend Seth. Sure enough I know the charming music of his long gun. Now, Ray, I’ll wager my fiddle he has bagged a bear.”
Rory was right for once, and here is how it fell out. Several bears had that day scented the battle from afar, or were attracted by the noise of the malleys and gulls that were now wheeling around the ships in thousands. They stood aloof while shooting was going on, sitting on their haunches licking their chops, greedy, hungry, expectant; but as soon as the sportsmen went off to dine,—
“Now is our time,” said one, “to get a bit of fresh meat.”
“Come on, then,” cried another; “there are a hundred seals lying on the ice. Hurrah?”