"Yes, Brothers," assented Whisky-Jack, "Black Fox's silver hide is worth more than all the rest put together. Sometimes it fetches Five Hundred Dollars!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Otter, enviously; "is that true, Jack?"
"It is, Bandy-legs--I always speak the truth; but it is only a fad. A tribe of Men called Russians buy Silver Fox; it is said they have a lot of money, but, like Pisew, little brains. For my part, I'd rather have feathers; they don't rub off, and are nicer in every way. Do you know who likes your coat, Carcajou?"
"The Russians!" piped Mink, like a little school-boy.
"Stupid Fish-eater! Bigger fools than the Russians buy Wolverine--the Eskimo, who live away down at the mouth of the big river that runs to the icebergs."
"What are icebergs, Brother?" asked Mink.
"Pieces of ice," answered Jack. "Now you know everything, go and catch a Goldeye for your supper."
"Goldeye don't come up the creeks, you ignorant Bird," retorted Sakwasew. "I wish they did, though; one can see their big, yellow eyes so far in the water--they're easily caught."
"Suckers are more useful," chimed in Fisher; "when they crowd the river banks in Autumn, eating those black water-bugs, I get fat, and hardly wet a foot; I hate the water, but I do like a plump, juicy Sucker."
"Not to be compared to a Goldeye or Doré," objected Mink; "they're too soft and flabby."