The Big Otter | Page 9

swelled, and what may be
termed blobby.

"What's the matter with it, Blondin?" I asked.
"My noz was froz," he replied curtly.
"You'd better have it looked to, or it'll be worse than froz, my man,"
said Lumley.
Blondin laughed and went off to attend to his nose in the men's house,
accompanied by the others, while we set to work to clean ourselves and
our abode. Thereafter, with moderated fire, we again got under our
buffalo robes, where we spent the remainder of a disturbed night in
thinking and dreaming about the thrilling contents of the winter packet.
CHAPTER THREE.
DEEPER DESOLATION.
Eight months of winter! Those who have read and entered into the
spirit of Arctic voyagers, may have some idea of what that means, but
none save he or she who has had experience of it can fully understand
it.
To us who dwelt at the little outpost in the Great Nor'-west, snow and
ice had become so familiar--such matter-of-course conditions of
existence--that green fields and flowers were a mere reminiscence of
the remote past. The scent of a rose was a faded memory--indeed the
scent of anything belonging to the vegetable kingdom had not once
saluted our nostrils during those eight months. Pure white became one
of the chief and most impressive facts of our existence in regard to
colour, if we may so call it--white, varying in tone, of course, to pearly
grey. Cold, of varied intensity, was the chief modifier of our sensations.
Happily light was also a potent factor in our experiences--bright,
glowing sunshine and blue skies contrasted well with the white and
grey, and helped to counteract the cold; while pure air invigorated our
frames and cheered our spirits.
"I tell you what, boys," said Lumley, one afternoon as he entered the
hall with gun and snow-shoes on shoulder, and flung down a bag full of

ptarmigan, "winter is drawing to a close at last. I felt my deerskin coat
quite oppressive to-day; does any one know what the thermometer
stood at this morning?"
"Yes, it was twenty-two above zero," answered Spooner, who was
attempting to smoke a pipe beside the stove; "I went to register it just
after breakfast."
"I thought so--only ten below freezing point; why, it feels quite
summery, and the snow has a softness that I have not noticed since last
autumn. I hope dinner will soon be ready, for I'm very sharp set. Why,
Spooner, what are you making such faces for?"
"Am I making faces?" said Spooner, blushing and trying to look
unconcerned.
"Of course you are, a marmozette monkey with the toothache could
scarcely make worse."
Spooner attempted to laugh, and I felt it difficult to refrain from joining
him, for I knew well the cause of his faces. He was the youngest of us
three and exceedingly anxious to imitate Lumley, who was
unfortunately a great smoker; but Spooner, like myself, had been born
with a dislike to smoke--especially tobacco smoke--and a liability to
become sick when he indulged in the pipe. Hence, whilst foolish
ambition induced him to smoke, outraged nature protested; and
between the two the poor fellow had a bad time of it. He had a good
deal of determination about him, however, and persevered.
The dinner-bell rang at the moment, and put an end to further badinage.
Lumley was right. Spring was in truth at hand, and a host of new
anticipations began from that day to crowd upon our minds.
About the same time there came another break in the monotony of
outpost life which had, if possible, a more powerful and exciting
influence on us than the arrival of the winter packet.

Now at this point I must beg the reader's pardon for asking him to go
with me to a still more desolate and remote outpost than our own.
Between one and two hundred miles nearer to the pole the little post of
Muskrat House lay under a beetling cliff, near the banks of an affluent
of the great Saskatchewan river. It was in charge of Peter Macnab,
before mentioned, who, in command of his army of six men and two
women, held the post against all comers--the chief comers there being
the North Wind and Jack Frost.
Poor Macnab was a jovial and sociable Scottish Highlander, who had
been condemned to worse than Siberian banishment because of being
one of the most active, enterprising, and pushing fellows in the service
of the Fur-Traders. His ability to manage men and Indians, and to
establish new trading-posts, excelled that of his fellows. He regarded it
as a complimentary though trying circumstance when Mr Strang sent
him to establish the post which was named by him Muskrat House, but
he faced the duty--as he faced everything--like a man; did his best for