“Been travelin’ mighty nigh all night,” the old man drawled. “Me and my hounds here.” He nodded at three powerful dogs, already curled up on the snow for a sleep. “Right smart cold up yonder. Hit’s a sight better here in the bottoms.”
“We’ll have coffee before you know it,” Johnny said cheerily. “Coffee and sour-dough flap-jacks.”
“Ah,” the old man sucked in his breath. “Sour dough flap-jacks. They shore do stick to yer ribs. Reckon Smokey Joe’s the flapjack eatinest feller you almost ever seed.”
Lawrence grinned. This old man spoke a strange language.
“A bear!” Smokey chuckled. “You all thought I were a bear! That’s right smart quare.”
“We almost caught a cub,” Johnny explained. “Caught him alive, I mean.”
“Almost.” Lawrence laughed. “But his mother objected.”
“Bears,” said the old man, blinking at the fire. “Back thar in them thar glaciers thar’s bears you might nigh wouldn’t believe the plain truth about.”
“Why?” Johnny sat up. “What’s strange about them?”
“Might nigh everythin’s quare, I reckon. Hm,” the old man sniffed the coffee, “smells powerful good.”