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Updated: May 6, 2025
Or would tinned beef suit you better?" "Bacum," replied Sacobie. He hoisted himself to his elbow, and wistfully sniffed the fumes of brandy that came from the direction of his bare feet. "Heap waste of good rum, me t'ink," he said. "You ungrateful little beggar!" laughed Archer, as he pulled a frying pan from under the bunk.
"What brings you so far from Fox Harbor this time of year?" inquired Archer. "Squaw sick. Papoose sick. Bote empty. Want good bacum to eat." Archer smiled at the fire. "Any luck trapping?" he asked. His guest shook his head and hid his face behind the upturned mug. "Not much," he replied, presently. He drew his sleeve across his mouth, and then produced a clay pipe from a pocket in his shirt.
Then he gathered together a few plugs of tobacco, some tea, flour, and dried fish. Sacobie watched him with freshly aroused interest. "More tobac, please," he said. "Squaw, he smoke, too." Archer added a couple of sticks of the black leaf to the pile. "Bacum, too," said the Micmac. "Bacum better nor fish, anyhow." Archer shook his head.
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