"You'll be warm enough directly," answered the boy. "'Cause when you get through eating you're going to tackle a job that just to think about will keep you warm all the rest of your lives. You're so hard maybe you won't mind it. But believe me, by the time you get back to Hart River cabin you'll know you've been somewhere."
"Look-a here," began one of the men, "if we hain't prisoners ye can't take us now'eres, an' if we be ye got to feed us an' ye can't make us work. W'at yer going to do 'bout that?"
"You must be a lawyer," grinned Connie. "I don't like lawyers. I've only known one. His name was Mr. Squigg, and when we got through with him, he started out and I guess he's going yet. I'm going to hit for Hart River in about an hour. You don't have to come. You can stick around here if you want to. But somehow I've got a hunch you're coming along. Hike out there, now, your fish is ready."
The men hiked. When they were a quarter of a mile away Connie opened the door and, jerking the cumbersome sled to one side, tossed the blankets of the four upon it. Then removing the kettle of boiling fish from the stove he walked
