“I didn’t like—­bein’ in—­that blow-hole. (Do you know—­it was so cold—­it burnt!) But I’d rather—­be—­in a blow-hole—­than—­br-r-r!  Blow-hole isn’t so s-s-melly as these s-s-kins!’

“You better be glad you’ve got a whole skin of your own and ain’t smellin’ brimstone,” said the Colonel, pouring a little more whisky down the unthankful throat.  “Pretty sort o’ Klondyker you are—­go and get nearly drowned first day out!” Several Pymeut women came in presently and joined the men at the fire, chattering low and staring at the Colonel and the Boy.

“I can’t go—­to the Klondyke—­naked—­no, nor wrapped in a rabbit-skin—­like Baby Bunting—­”

Nicholas was conferring with the Colonel and offering to take him to Ol’ Chief’s.

“Oh, yes; Ol’ Chief got two clo’es.  You come.  Me show”; and they crawled out one after the other.

“You pretty near dead that time,” said one of the younger women conversationally.

“That’s right.  Who are you, anyway?”

“Me Anna—­Yagorsha’s daughter.”

“Oh, yes, I thought I’d seen you before.”  She seemed to be only a little older than Muckluck, but less attractive, chiefly on account of her fat and her look of ill-temper.  She was on specially bad terms with a buck they called Joe, and they seemed to pass all their time abusing one another.

The Boy craned his neck and looked round.  Except just where he was lying, the Pymeut men and women were crowded together, on that side of the Kachime, at his head and at his feet, thick as herrings on a thwart.  They all leaned forward and regarded him with a beady-eyed sympathy.  He had never been so impressed by the fact before, but all these native people, even in their gentlest moods, frowned in a chronic perplexity and wore their wide mouths open.  He reflected that he had never seen one that didn’t, except Muckluck.

Here she was, crawling in with a tin can.

“Got something there to eat?”

The rescued one craned his head as far as he could.

“Too soon,” she said, showing her brilliant teeth in the fire-light.  She set the tin down, looked round, a little embarrassed, and stirred the fire, which didn’t need it.

“Well”—­he put his chin down under the rabbit-skin once more—­“how goes the world, Princess?”

She flashed her quick smile again and nodded reassuringly.  “You stay here now?”

“No; goin’ up river.”

“What for?” She spoke disapprovingly.

“Want to get an Orange Grove.”

“Find him up river?”

“Hope so.”

“I think I go, too”; and all the grave folk, sitting so close on the sleeping-bench, stretched their wide mouths wider still, smiling good-humouredly.

“You better wait till summer.”

“Oh!” She lifted her head from the fire as one who takes careful note of instructions.  “Nex’ summer?”

“Well, summer’s the time for squaws to travel.”