“I’m pleased to meet you, gentlemen. It’s lonely in these parts––lonely.” He shuddered as though with cold. “I’ve been trapping in these latitudes for a considerable period, and it’s––lonely. My name is Zachary Smith.”
As the trapper pronounced his name he glanced keenly from one to the other of the two men beside him. His look was suggestive of doubt. He seemed to be trying to re-assure himself that he had never before crossed the paths of these chance guests of his. After a moment of apprehensive silence he went on slowly, like one groping in darkness. His confidence was not fully established.
“You can make up your minds to a couple of days in this shanty––anyhow. I mostly live on ‘sour-belly’ and ‘hard tack.’ Don’t sound inviting, eh?”
Chillingwood laughed pleasantly.
“We’re Government officials,” he said with meaning.
“Yes,” put in Grey. “But we’ve got plenty of canned truck in our baggage. I’m thinking you may find our supplies a pleasant change.”
“No doubt––no doubt whatever. Cat’s meat would be a delicacy after––months of tallowy pork.”
This slow-spoken trapper surveyed his guests thoughtfully. The travellers were enjoying the comforting shelter and warmth. Neither of them seemed particularly talkative.
Presently Grey roused himself. Extreme heat after extreme cold always has a somnolent effect on those who experience it.