The Lure of the North by Harold Bindloss

Scott lying among the pine-needles after work had stopped, lighted his pipe and glanced at Thirlwell, who had been talking for some minutes.

"On the whole, it was lucky the smith had an iron hot," he said. "Black Steve's a dangerous man and we know something about the _Metis_ temper. Drummond, of course, is hardly a _Metis_, but he has a drop of Indian blood that must be reckoned on. It's a remarkably virile strain."