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Ed lane leading to the massive trading store g

Ay, half-mocking, yet musical voice he touched
lightly on vast and distant things. He talked of the great

Saskatchewan, of Peace River, and the delta of the Mackenzie,
of the winter journeys beyond Great Bear Lake

into the Land of the Little Sticks, and the half-mythical lake of
Yamba Tooh. He spoke of life with the Dog Ribs
and Yellow Knives, where the snow falls in midsummer. Before her eyes
slowly spread, like a panorama,

the whole extent of the great North, with its fierce, hardy men, its
journeys by canoe and sledge, its frozen barrens, its mighty forests,
its solemn charm. All at once this post of Conjurors House,

a month in the wilderness as it was, seemed very small and tame and
civilized for the simple reason that Death did not always compass it
about. "It was very cold then," said Ned Trent "and very hard. _Le grand
frete_ [froid--cold] of winter had
come. At night we had no other shelter than our blankets, and we could
not keep a fire because the spruce burned too fast and threw too
many coals. For a long time we shivered, curled up on our snowshoes;

fell heavily asleep, so that even the dogs fighting over us did not
awaken us.
Two or three times in the night

we boiled tea. We had to thaw our moccasins each morning by thrusting
them inside our shirts. Even the Indians were shivering and saying,
'Ed-sa, yazzi ed-sa'--'it is cold, very cold.' And when we came to Rae
it was not much

better. A roaring fire in the fireplace could not prevent
the ink from free