“Oh no, sir; all right, thank you!” replied the man, rising alertly and limping to the sledge. “Only knocked the skin off my shin, sir.”
West was a quiet, serious, polite man, an American by birth, who was much liked by the crew in consequence of a union of politeness and modesty with a disposition to work far beyond his strength. He was not very robust, however, and in powers of physical endurance scarcely fitted to engage in an Arctic expedition.
“An’ don’t ye think it’s worth makin’ enquiries about me?” cried O’Riley, who had been tossed into a crevice in a hummock, where he lay jammed and utterly unable to move.
Fred and the Esquimaux laughed heartily, while O’Riley extricated himself from his awkward position. Fortunately no damage was done, and in five minutes they were flying over the frozen sea as madly as ever in the direction of the point at the opposite side of Red-snow Valley, where a cloud of frost-smoke indicated open water.
“Now, look you, Mr Meetuck, av ye do that again ye’ll better don’t, let me tell ye. Sure the back o’ me’s track entirely,” said O’Riley, as he rearranged himself with a look of comfort that belied his words. “Och, there ye go again,” he cried, as the sled suddenly fell about six inches, from a higher level to a lower, where the floe had cracked, causing the teeth of the whole party to come together with a snap. “A man dursen’t spake for fear o’ bitin’ his tongue off.”
“No fee,” said Meetuck, looking over his shoulder with a broader smirk.
“No fee, ye lump of pork! it’s a double fee I’ll have to pay the dacter an ye go on like that.”
No fee was Meetuck’s best attempt at the words no fear. He had picked up a little English during his brief sojourn with the sailors, and already understood much of what was said to him, but words were as yet few, and his manner of pronouncing them peculiar.
“Holo! look! look!” cried the Esquimaux, leaping suddenly off the sledge and checking the dogs.
“Eh! what! where?” ejaculated Fred, seizing his musket.