He is unhappy while it's outside of him.
He's got Indian blood in him, you see, and he'd die for whiskey." So saying, French took up the case and carried it to the inner room and stowed it away under his bed.
But as he rose up from making this disposition of the dangerous stuff Mac himself appeared in the room.
"What are you standing there looking at ?" said French with unusual impatience.
"Oh, nothing at all," said Mackenzie, whose strong Highland accent went strangely with his soft Indian voice and his dark Indian face.
"It iss a good place for it, whatefer." French stood for a moment in disgusted silence, and then breaking into a laugh he said: "All right, Mac.

There's no use trying to keep it from you.

But, mind you, it's fair play in this thing.

Last time, you remember, you got into trouble.

I won't stand that sort of thing again." "Oh, well, well," said Mackenzie cheerfully, "it will not be for long anyway, more's the peety." "Now then, get us a bite of supper, Mackenzie," said French sharply, "and let us to bed." Some wild duck and some bannock with black molasses, together with strong black tea, made a palatable supper after a long day on the breezy prairie.