The ship had
not come, and the post store was empty.
As they talked, the group about the canoe was growing larger. The
old men had joined the others together with a few old women. As
the story of their disappointment was told one old man said, "You
see the way we live and you see the way we dress. It is hard for
us to live. Sometimes we do not get many caribou. Perhaps they
will not cross our country. We can get nothing from the
Englishman, not even ammunition. It is hard for us to live."
All summer they had been taking an occasional caribou, enough for
present needs, but little more than that, and the hunters on their
return from the coast found the hands at home as empty as their
own. Now the long winter stretched before them with all its dread
possibilities.
We enquired of them how far it was to the coast, and found that
they make the outward journey in five days, and the return trip in
seven. They informed us that they had this year been accompanied
part of the way in by an Englishman. All white men are Englishmen
to them. As George interpreted to me, he said, "That must be Mr.
Cabot."
Instantly the chief caught at the name and said, "Cabot? Yes, that
is the man.
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