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"Where be thy strong son, Moklan, and the fish he was ever willing to bring that you might eat?" The old man shook his head. "And where be Bidarshik, thy strong son? Ever was he a mighty hunter, and ever did he bring thee the good back-fat and the sweet dried tongues of the moose and the caribou. I see no back-fat and no sweet dried tongues.
Heap hungry. Him got bully coat." Nicholas picked it up off the floor. "Him got no kow-kow. Him say, 'Give me duck, give me back-fat. You take coat, him too heavy. Me say, 'Yes." "But how did he get the coat?" "Him say two white men came down river on big ice." "Yes, yes " "Men sick." He tapped his forehead. "Man no sick, he no go down with the ice"; and Nicholas shuddered.
Yukon salmon broiled in their skins over a birch fire are the finest eating in the world, and any "other way" involves a loss of flavour. He was introduced for the first time to the delights of reindeer "back-fat," and found even that not so bad. Nicholas understood, at least, that politeness was being offered, and he grinned. "I've got a sister myself. I'll show you her picture some day.
But the back-fat, the kidneys, and the tongues these shall go into other mouths than thine and mine, old man." Ebbits nodded his head and wept silently. "There be no one to hunt meat for us," she cried, turning fiercely upon me. There was accusation in her manner, and I shrugged my shoulders in token that I was not guilty of the unknown crime imputed to me.
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