"Sure!" said Donegal. "There's no place that forlorn a man can't somehow raise a living out av it, but the one Ned Jordan's after visiting is not what ye would considher a favourable specimen."
Charley looked up and laughed. "Meaner than a shark. There's nothing too low down for that man to do."
Donegal evidently saw the curiosity in Niven's eyes and nodded gravely. "'Tis Charley that's speaking thrue. Now, some men are bad on occasion, and ye will now and then find sailors and sealers doing things that are no credit to them by way av diversion, but they work, and that and the lashing of the bitther seas is the saving av them. Still, there's things no man may do continual."
Stickine smiled dryly. "That's quite right," he said. "The sea, and just the sea—that sets Donegal talking like one of those patent medicine books—and if we had a thousand dollars which of us wouldn't be glad to leave it? Still, I've no use for a man who goes back on his own country, and if it's solid meanness and wickedness you're wanting, you'll find them and Motter quite close together."
"He must work if he catches seals," said Niven.
Charley grinned ironically. "I guess you've found that out, but when Motter has any pelts to sell it's tolerably plain figuring he stole them. Tricked the Indians out of them—though they're not Indians on this side either—and they didn't belong to them, anyway."
"Then why don't the Russians run him out?" asked Appleby.
Stickine laughed softly. "I guess the ones who would do don't know," he said. "This is a kind of curious country."
Just then Jordan flung back the scuttle. "Get your boat over, Stickine. I'm going ashore," he said.
Stickine rose, and Montreal, who had been sitting gloomily silent, looked up. "If you've any use for me I'd like to come along," he said.