ce, that Heywood forgot his bruised shins and began
to rub his hands with delight.

In a very short time three juicy venison-steaks were steaming before the
three travellers, and in a much shorter time they had disappeared
altogether and were replaced by three new ones. The mode of cooking was
very simple. Each steak was fixed on a piece of stick and set up before
the fire to roast. When one side was ready, the artist, who seemed to
have very little patience, began to cut off pieces and eat them while
the other side was cooking.

To say truth, men out in those regions have usually such good appetites
that they are not particular as to the cooking of their food. Quantity,
not quality, is what they desire. They generally feel very much like
the Russian, of whom it is said, that he would be content to eat sawdust
if only he _got_ _plenty_ _of_ _it_! The steaks were washed down with
tea. There is no other drink in Rupert's Land. The Hudson's Bay
Company found that spirits were so hurtful to the Indians that they
refused to send them into the country; and at the present day there is
no strong drink to be had for love or money over the length and breadth
of their territories, except at those places where other fur-traders
oppose them, and oblige them, in self-defence, to sell fire-water, as
the Indians call it.

Tea is the great--the only--drink in Rupert's Land! Yes, laugh as ye
will, ye lovers of gin and beer and whisky, one who has tried it, and
has seen it tried by hundreds of stout stalwart men, tells you that the
teetotaller is the best man for real hard work.

The three travellers drank their tea and smacked their lips, and grinned
at each other with great satisfaction. They could not have done more if
it had been the best of brandy and they the jolliest of topers! But the
height of their enjoyment was not reached until the pipes were lighted.

It was quite a sight to see them smoke! Jasper lay with his huge frame
extended in front of the blaze, puffing clouds of smoke thick enough to
have shamed a small cannon. Arrowhead rested his back on the stump of a
tree, stretched his feet towards the fire, and allowed the smoke to roll
slowly through his nostrils as well as out at his mouth, so that it kept
curling quietly round his nose, and up his cheeks, and into his eyes,
and through his hair in a most delightful manner; at least so it would
seem, for his reddish-brown face beamed with happy contentment.