“My notion is,” said the accountant, interrupting the flow of words ever and anon to chew the morsel with which his mouth was filled—“my notion is, that as it’s a fine, clear day we should travel five miles through the country parallel with North River. I know the ground, and can guide you easily to the spots where there are lots of willows, and therefore plenty of ptarmigan, seeing that they feed on willow tops; and the snow that fell last night will help us a little.”
“How will the snow help us?” inquired Hamilton.
“By covering up all the old tracks, to be sure, and showing only the new ones.”
“Well, captain,” said Harry, as he raised a can of tea to his lips, and nodded to Hamilton as if drinking his health, “go on with your proposals for the day. Five miles up the river to begin with, then—”
“Then we’ll pull up,” continued the accountant; “make a fire, rest a bit, and eat a mouthful of pemmican; after which we’ll strike across country for the southern woodcutter’s track, and so home.”
“And how much will that be?”
“About fifteen miles.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Harry; “pass the kettle, please. Thanks.—Do you think you’re up to that, Hammy?”
“I will try what I can do,” replied Hamilton. “If the snow-shoes don’t cause me to fall often, I think I shall stand the fatigue very well.”
“That’s right,” said the accountant; “‘faint heart,’ etcetera, you know. If you go on as you’ve begun, you’ll be chosen to head the next expedition to the north pole.”