“But I know of a river,” continued Coppernose, “which falls into this one from the north, and comes from the Horn Mountain that we passed at the end of Great Slave Lake; it is the country of the Beaver Indians. My relations meet me frequently on that river. There are great plains on both sides of that river, which abound in buffaloes and moose-deer.”
“I don’t believe it—wauch!” said English Chief. As this was a discouraging reception of his remarks, Coppernose relapsed into silence.
Soon afterwards the large canoe was observed to make for a low grassy point; and as it was about the usual camping time, English Chief made for the same place. The hunters reached it about ten minutes later, and bore into camp two reindeer, four geese, and a swan, besides a large quantity of berries gathered by the fair (or brown) hands of Darkeye.
“There is plenty of game everywhere,” said Reuben, in answer to a query from his leader, “we might have killed much more if we’d had more time—but enough is as good as a feast, as the sayin’ goes in my country.”
“In your country?” said Mackenzie, with a smile.
“Ay, I claim to be a Scotchman—though I was born and raised in Canada—my father hailed from the land o’ cakes.”
“Does Lawrence claim the same nationality on the same ground, Reuben?”
“He does not!” answered Lawrence for himself, while busy cleaning his father’s gun.
“The lad loves the Canadians,” replied Reuben, with a chuckle; “besides, he couldn’t claim it on the same ground, seein’ that I am fully half a Scot, while he is at least three-quarters a Canadian.”
“More the better luck for him,” said one of the Canadians, who had already kindled a fire, before which one of his comrades was busily engaged setting up juicy venison steaks to roast.