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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Wal, I'll sail up, and send word ashore." "How'll you sind word? We can't spake a word of the lingo." "Wal, I ben a thinkin' it over, an' I've about come to the conclusion that the old Frenchman down thar in the cabin'll be the best one to send." "Sure, an' ye won't sind the Frenchman ashore in yer own boat!" "Why not?" "He'll niver bring it back; so he won't."
It's only a day's march, and he's got it packed with grub. You hide out there, and the little food we have left in the cabin'll be enough to take us down there too the woman and I we'll follow your snowshoes tracks. Then we'll make it through to the Yuga from there. And if we have to, we can go over to a grizzly carcass I know of and cut off a few pounds of meat but we won't have to.
The rest of the b'ys have gone, so the cabin'll be quiet." "Thank you," replied Keith; "you're kind. I do feel sleepy, but there is just one thing I want to ask you about now." "Fire away, then." "Who is that man living down the trail?" "What, Jim Blasco?" and Pete's face suddenly clouded. "Yes." "Oh, he's bughouse." "What, crazy?" "Yes, an' worse than crazy; he's devilish."
"'Ristocratic!" cries Joe, putting on airs. "That's what'll tickle Bill!" "Oh, laws!" exclaims Mrs. Williams, with humorous sadness, "what a show th' ole cabin'll make, stuck down there 'mongst all them fine housen!" "I don't know's I quite like the notion," says her husband, with a good-natured expansion of his serious features. "I'm 'fraid we sha'n't be welcome neighbors down there.
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