“Vell, Ay tank Ay bane goin’ back,” remarked Swanson as he scrambled into his own boat. “Yumpin yiminy! Das bane vun big bull you get!”
Now that the excitement was over, the boys glanced about. No more walruses were to be seen ashore. The rocks and ice were deserted save for a half dozen dead bulls and a couple of badly wounded ones. A few cows could be seen swimming some distance away. The other boats’ crews were busy working at the kill. The Eskimos, however, were paddling furiously about and the interested boys saw the forward man in the nearest kayak lunge forward with his harpoon as a bull walrus broke water.
“Golly, if that fellow goes for ’em they’ll be sunk!” exclaimed Jim.
But the Eskimos gave the stricken and angry creature no chance. As with a snort of rage he broke the surface and charged the kayak, the tiny craft whirled as on a pivot, dodged the oncoming creature and, as it passed by him, the Eskimo in the bow leaned over and drove a long lance into the animal’s neck. Over and over again the maneuver was repeated. Fascinated the boys and men watched this battle between the wounded, infuriated bull walrus and the frail craft of skin, with its Eskimo occupants armed with their primitive weapons. But, as always, brains and intelligence triumphed, and presently the grinning natives were paddling toward shore, towing the carcass of their victim behind them.
Many days had passed since the boys’ first walrus hunt. They had learned much by experience and had killed many of the enormous ugly creatures without mishap. They had retained the skull of that first huge bull as a trophy, and no walrus taken since had approached it in the length and beauty of the perfectly matched and pointed tusks. Tom, to his unspeakable delight, had been made boat steerer and had been assigned to the same craft in which they had battled with the walrus and Jim, not to be outdone, had bent every energy to acquiring skill in using the harpoon and lance.
In this Cap’n Pem had played an important part, and finding the regular irons far too heavy for the boy, he had had the blacksmith fashion some special lighter weapons for Jim’s private use. Jim was as proud as a peacock of these and kept them, sharpened to a razor edge and carefully sheathed and greased, in the bow of the boat. And when, one day, two white whales were sighted and Tom’s boat drew into one of the creatures, and Jim had his first chance to test his skill, he was trembling with excitement.
Standing in the bow, bracing himself in the knee cleat, the boy raised his iron, and as the huge beluga broke water close by, he heaved the iron with all his strength. A roar of approval came booming across the waves from Cap’n Pem as the weapon struck fair and buried itself in the white whale’s back. All by themselves the boys and their crew played the stricken creature and by Tom’s orders the men worked as the line was hauled or slackened. When at last the white whale lay tired upon the sea, the boat drew close, and Jim killed the beluga with a single stroke of his lance. Then indeed, the two boys felt that they were full-fledged whalemen and they longed for the time when they could go on a real whale, a bowhead, and fight the thrilling, exciting, dangerous battle with a monster of the deep and bring him “fin up” unaided.
But no bowheads were seen, and the boys were forced to content themselves with lesser game. They had learned to handle the kayaks, and under Unavik’s tutelage they had become quite expert with the ticklish skin-covered craft. Often they had paddled ashore and, armed with rifle and shotgun, had gone hunting in the rocky hills or over the tundra, but they had seen neither bear, musk ox, reindeer, or other large game. But they invariably returned with full bags, for ducks, plover, geese and swan, as well as the big Arctic hares, were everywhere, and those on the Narwhal never suffered for lack of fresh meat. Once too, Jim had spied a grayish shape skulking along a hollow several hundred yards away and taking careful aim had brought it down at his first shot.
“Gee, I guess it’s some Eskimo’s dog!” he exclaimed when the two boys reached the creature and saw a gaunt, pale, grayish yellow, doglike animal lying among the rocks and sparse grass.
“Well it’s got a good hide anyway,” said Tom. “We’ll skin it and take it along. It’ll make a nice rug when we get home.”
But when, on reaching the schooner, they exhibited the skin, and Mr. Kemp told them they had killed a huge wolf, the boys fairly gasped with astonishment and then danced and yelled with delight.
Another time, Tom had killed a beautiful blue fox as the creature raced away from a half-devoured young Canada goose, and in a pen on the forward deck, they had a miniature menagerie of young ducks, geese, swans, gulls, and other birds.
It was now late summer and the young birds of the year were able to take care of themselves, but when the boys had first gone ashore on their hunts, ducks, geese, and other wild fowl were nesting by thousands in every hollow and swale.
It was on their first trip that Jim had an amusing experience, and for months afterwards Tom and the ship’s officers never ceased teasing him about it. The two boys were strolling across a little vale, a spot carpeted with deep reindeer moss and stunted bushes, when, from almost under Jim’s feet, a duck fluttered away apparently unable to take wing. Leaping forward to grasp it Jim’s foot tripped and he plunged headlong into the bushes. There was a crunching crash beneath him and, as he regained his feet, Tom fairly doubled up with uncontrollable laughter. From chest to waist Jim was drenched with a sticky yellow mass dotted with broken and crushed bluish egg shells. He had fallen squarely upon the duck’s nest!
“Oh you are a sight!” choked Tom. “Gosh, you certainly did find that nest, Jim!”
Jim looked ruefully at the dripping mess and without a smile exclaimed: “Gee, I like eggs, but I don’t like ’em scrambled that way!”
The story was too good to keep, and whenever eggs were served thereafter some one would invariably ask Jim if he’d have his scrambled.
At last the signs of approaching autumn warned Captain Edwards that they must leave the shores of Baffin Island and speed southward to Hudson Straits and winter quarters in Hudson Bay. Long strings of swans and great V-shaped flocks of geese passed daily across the sky, headed south. The vast rafts of ducks became uneasy. The Old Squaws whistled querulously, the eiders swam restlessly about, buffle heads and teal winged swiftly back and forth, and the blackheads darkened the sky with their veering, ever-turning flocks. The plover lost their black waistcoats and took on silvery white ones; the snow bunting became gray and white; the ptarmigan were dotted with white feathers among their soft brown plumage and the Arctic hares grew paler and paler as they gradually assumed their winter coats to match the spotless snow. The days grew shorter, the sun disappeared below the horizon, and the Aurora glowed and flashed and scintillated in tongues and bands of lambent hues across the zenith. The wind was chill with the feel of frost and ice as it swept across the land which now showed hardly a tint of green or a speck of the scarlet, blue and yellow that had formerly decked the hillsides.
So, with many casks of oils, great piles of walrus hides, bundles of sealskins, sacks stuffed full of eider feathers, and many hundred pounds of walrus ivory in her hold, the Narwhal picked and felt her way out through the leads among the ice pack and into the broad waters of Baffin Bay. To the strong and biting wind her sails were spread, and across the short sharp waves with their spiteful hissing caps of foam, the schooner plunged towards Disko Bay. Here the Eskimos were landed laden with axes, powder and lead, cloth, brass, and gee-gaws as their wages. Then with yards braced sharp up and sheets close hauled, the Narwhal buried her blunt nose deep in the tumbling foam, and with lee rail awash sped southward for the entrance to Hudson Straits.
Twice bowheads were sighted and boats lowered; but to the boys’ chagrin and disappointment, Captain Edwards absolutely refused to let them go in on the giant creatures without an experienced man in charge, for the weather was squally, swirling flakes of snow fell now and then, the sea was rough and time was precious.
At last, the entrance to the Straits was reached. Passing Resolution Island close to windward and with a fair wind, the Narwhal sped through. Slipping swiftly past Coats Island and through the narrow Fisher Strait with big Southampton Island on the north, she headed for Rowe’s Welcome, where Captain Edwards planned to pass the long and dreary Arctic winter.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom as the boys gazed across the vast expanse of the bay. “This is like the ocean. I thought Hudson Bay was just like a big lake.”
Captain Edwards chuckled. “Mighty big lake!” he laughed. “About six hundred miles wide and a thousand miles long—big enough to drop all New England into it and just make a little island about the size of Southampton yonder. And did you know we could go on sailing and come out over north’ard of Alaska—that is, if the ice’d let us?”
“No, I never did,” admitted Tom. “I wish geographies taught us all these things. We learn that Lake Superior is awfully big but they never say much about these out-of-the-way places.”
“Well, Superior’s a pretty sizable pond,” declared the skipper. “But it’s just a puddle ’longside this bay. Why, from James Bay to the north’ard point of Melville Peninsula’s as far as acrost the Atlantic at the mouth of the St. Lawrence; and from Nottingham Island at the end of the Straits to the Seal River, t’other side of the bay, it’s as far as from New York to Chicago.”
“Whew, I guess I’ll have to remember that and tell the boys at home,” said Jim. “Are there whales in here?”
“Whales!” exclaimed the skipper. “One of the best grounds I know. If this weather holds out we’ll get a heap of ile afore ice begins to make.”
Cap’n Pem who stood near shook his head dolefully. “Too consarned good fer to las’,” he declared. “Li’ble to come down a rip-snortin’ mos’ anny minnet. Storm breeder’s what I calls it. Yes, sir. Feels like summer now, but I’ll bet ye we ketch it afore we git to the Welcome.”
It was, as the old whaleman said, “too good to last”—a soft, warm day with a blue sky, a calm sea barely ruffled by the light southerly wind, and altogether like an Indian Summer day in New England. But to the experienced eye of the old whaleman there were many signs that the weather would not last and that something was wrong. The ducks, that had been winging southward, huddled together, raised their heads uneasily and gabbled ceaselessly. The V-shaped flocks of geese were mere specks in the sky, and their hoarse honks came faintly through the air. The gulls uttered raucous cries and wheeled and screamed. Little knots of auks and guillemots kept rising from the waves, heading on rapidly moving wings for the craggy shores. The sun had a pale, hazy appearance while about it was a huge ring of light, like the ghost of a rainbow.
Lighter and lighter became the wind. It fell to a flat calm, the water was smooth as oil and the Narwhal drifted idly. Then the boys noticed that the vast bulk of Southampton Island seemed to be fading away, the farther shores of the bay were becoming faint and blue. Almost before they realized what it meant, the air grew suddenly chill, a cold wind whipped against their faces and, like a gray blanket, the fog descended swiftly, unheralded, and wrapped schooner and bay in its dense gray folds.
“Knowed sutthin’ wuz a-comin’ out o’ this,” declared Cap’n Pem. “Bust it all, why couldn’t she ’a’ held off ’til we got inter the Welcome?”
“What on earth is this ‘Welcome’ you’re always speaking of?” asked Tom.
“Shucks, ’course ye don’t know,” replied the old whaleman. “Why, a Welcome’s a sort o’ harbor-bay like, where a ship kin put in an’ be snug an’ safe from ice jams an’ win’s.”
“Well, it’s a good name for such places,” laughed Tom. “I suppose the first people who found them called them that because they were so welcome.”
“Yep, I reckon so,” assented Pem. “But this here blasted fog ain’t welcome, an’ like as not it’ll come on cold and blow harder’n blazes fer a week arter it lifts. I knowed that there cat’d play the everlastin’ fumdiddles with us.”
The fog was now so dense that only a few feet of the deck and bulwarks were visible about the spot where one stood. The water although so near was completely hidden and looking down into the greenish gray vapor, the ship seemed floating in air. From every side came the whimpering cries of gulls, the querulous chatter of ducks, the honk of geese, and the shrill notes of other birds. Presently Unavik loomed silently close to the boys and leaning upon the rail peered into the fog.
“H’lo!” he greeted the two. “Plenty fog, me say. Me t’ink Ukla bus’ dis day.”
“What are you talking about?” queried Jim. “What’s ‘Ukla,’ and what do you mean by its busting?’”
The Eskimo grinned. “Gimme t’bac, me say you,” he replied.
So accustomed had the boys become to Unavik’s inevitable requests for tobacco, that they always carried a plug or two in their pockets, and so, at the Eskimo’s request, Jim handed him the coveted weed.
“Reckon he’s goin’ to spin a Eskimo yarn,” remarked Mr. Kemp, who stepped like a phantom from the surrounding mist. “These boys is full of stories—have one to account for blamed near everything. Some of ’em mighty good, too.”
Unavik grinned, tore a huge mouthful of tobacco from the plug with his strong white teeth and, having masticated it for a moment, began to speak. It was not difficult for the boys to understand him, for they had become familiar with his bizarre English. They listened intently to his tale which, without Unavik’s dialect, was as follows:
“Many, many winters ago,” commenced the Eskimo, “there was one great white bear named Ukla. He and his wife lived many days’ travel towards the west in a great skin house on a rocky plain, and all about the house were the skulls of men and women, for Ukla and his wife ate people’s flesh, and every night he traveled across the land to the Eskimo villages. Then he would kill any one he found outside the huts, and if he could not do this, he would steal the bodies of the dead and fastening a thong about their feet, would drag them to his home.
“Sometimes he was seen by the Eskimos, but oftener the people saw only his giant footmarks in the snow, or found the graves opened and the dead gone. For many years old Ukla did this, and although the Eskimos held medicine feasts and asked the Great Spirit to help them, no help came.
“Many times also the people lay in wait and tried to kill Ukla, the giant bear, with their spears and arrows, but Ukla was a great anticoot (magician) and the weapons fell from his shaggy skin bent or broken. Then one day a stranger came to the Eskimos—a tall fair man, and said:
“‘Take heart, for I will destroy Ukla.’
“Then the Eskimos danced and beat their drums and were happy, and the stranger said to them: ‘To-morrow I will pretend to be dead, and you must wrap me in skins and bury me among the stones; and when Ukla comes let him take me away in peace.’
“Then the people were sad, but the stranger said: ‘Weep not, for I will return and never again will Ukla rob the graves or kill the people.’
“So the Eskimos did as the stranger told them, and wrapping him in skins placed him among the stones and went to their homes, crying loudly as if he had died. In the night came the great bear who had heard the Eskimos’ wails across the hills, and seeing the body of the stranger, he fastened a thong about the man’s ankles and started for his home. But the man spread out his arms and grasped at stones and bushes, and although Ukla pulled and tugged he could not travel fast, and every few miles he had to stop and rest. Then as he looked at the man’s body lying quiet on the ground he would shake his head in wonder.
“‘Ah,’ he would mutter to himself, ‘who would think such a small man would weigh so much; but he must be very fat and fine indeed! What a fine supper he will make!’ Then, thinking of the fine feast he would have, Ukla would start on again. At last, very tired, he reached his hut, and dragging the man inside, the bear pushed him into a corner, and too tired to eat he crawled into his sleeping bag, telling his wife they would feast in the morning.
“After a time the stranger opened his eyes to look about, but Ukla’s wife, who was trimming the lamp, saw him and cried out to her husband: ‘This man is not dead—he is looking about!’
“But Ukla was very weary and said sleepily: ‘Oh, man dead, man frozen stiff.’
“Then the man kept very still, and when the bear’s wife turned away, he seized Ukla’s knife, and leaping up, killed her. As she fell dead Ukla awoke, but the man, throwing down the knife, dashed out of the door and across the plain with the big bear at his heels, panting and growling and snapping his teeth.
“At last, no matter how fast he ran, the man found Ukla was getting nearer and nearer and would soon overtake him. But the man was a great anticoot, and as he ran he made a great hill rise between himself and Ukla. So as the bear climbed slowly up one side, the man raced swiftly down the other. But when Ukla reached the top he curled up in a ball and rolled so quickly down the hill that he almost caught the man.
“Then the stranger made a big river flow between himself and the bear, and weary with running he seated himself on a stone to rest. When Ukla came to the river he roared and growled in anger and in a great voice called out: ‘How, O man did you cross the river?’
“And the man laughed and answered, ‘I drank my way across.’
“When Ukla heard this, he plunged into the water and drank and drank until at last he made a dry path across the river, and crawled slowly up the other bank towards the man. But his long hair was wet and heavy and his body was swollen with the water he had drunk, so that the man had no fear of him and taunted him. Then Ukla grew very angry and with growls like icebergs clashing in a storm he roared: ‘Ugh! even though I cannot overtake you, yet you shall not escape me!’ and giving himself a mighty shake he burst, and the water which he had swallowed flew in all directions and made a thick fog over the land.
“Now the man was greatly troubled, for the hills and plains could not be seen and he was lost. But he skinned Ukla, and taking the shaggy hide in his hands, he waved it many times about his head. This made a great wind which drove away the fog and the man walked safely to the Eskimo village. Then there was great rejoicing and the men did not work or hunt for three days, and the women did not comb their hair for three days and three nights, but all danced and beat drums and feasted.
“For many years the stranger dwelt among the people and taught them many things, and so that the people would always remember him, he told them that Ukla’s spirit would roam the plains, and would burst from time to time, and that then, as the fog came, they must give offerings and hold medicine dances, and that then he would know they had not forgotten and would wave Ukla’s skin and drive away the fog.”
“That is a good yarn!” cried Tom as Unavik ended. “And say, hurrah, the fog’s lifting!”
Unavik grinned. “Man, he hear plenty drum. You no hear? Me say he please an’ wave um skin.”
“Gee, I do hear drums!” declared Tom. “From over to the west.”
“Sure Mike!” exclaimed Unavik. “Me say all same. Fog go.”
Tom laughed. “Do you believe that yarn, Unavik?” he asked.
The Eskimo stared at Tom with a puzzled expression. “Sure,” he declared, “me see hill, me see river, me see fog. All time fog come Eskimo make-um plenty dance, plenty drum, fog go, all same now.”
As if further argument was useless in the face of such evidence, Unavik waddled off towards the bows.
Presently the water was rippling against the vessel’s sides. The fog had thinned until the entire schooner was visible from where the boys stood. In wisps and shreds the vapor was scudding by, while out of the west came a strong, cold wind.
As the last of the fog swept by, there was a hoarse frightened bellow from forward. Quick sharp orders were roared out and the boys, racing to the lee side of the schooner, fairly gasped. Almost under the bows was a jagged reef of sharp black rocks! For a brief instant the boys stood petrified. The schooner seemed doomed. Before her sails could be trimmed, before she would have steerageway upon her she would be on the rocks. Each second she was drifting, slipping nearer to the reef. The boys listened with bated breath, expecting to hear the rending crash, the awful jar that would mean the Narwhal’s end.
All about orders were flying thick and fast. Cap’n Pem was roaring from the break of the poop. Captain Edwards had leaped to the wheel and was shouting commands. Mr. Kemp in the main shrouds was cursing the men for their slowness. Back and forth to braces, sheets and halyards the men were rushing and hauling in a vain effort to save the ship. Then, from under the boys’ feet came rapid pistol-like reports; above the cries of the men, drowning the creak and squeal of block and sheave, barked the exhaust of the motor; the Narwhal forged ahead, she swung slowly to her rudder and, with not five feet to spare, slid by the threatening reefs to safety.
With blank faces boys and men gazed at one another. Who had saved the ship? It was not Mike, he was stumping hurriedly aft as puzzled as any one.
“B’ Saint Pathrick!” he cried. “’Tis a sphirit Oi’m thinkin’!”
With the boys by his side he hurried through the cabin towards the tiny engine room where the motor was still throbbing steadily.
“Glory be!” he exclaimed, as he caught sight of the figure bending over the motor. “Glory be, ’tis thot dummy av a blacksmith!”
“Gosh, it is!” cried Tom. “The deaf-and-dumb man!”
“B’jabbers thin ’tis no dummy in his brains he do be, at thot!” roared Mike. “B’ the powers, ’tis lucky we do be, thot Oi tould him to be afther doin’ a bit o’ worruk on the injine.”
The deaf mute straightened up and stared blankly at the three. Then, moving his fingers in an attempt to explain matters, he shut off the motor, picked up his kit of tools and walked forward.
“Gee, I’d like to know how it happened,” declared Tom. “He couldn’t have heard the orders or excitement. I’m going to ask Swanson.”
A broad grin overspread the big Swede’s features as, in response to Tom’s questions, he interrogated the deaf mute and watched the fellow’s fingers communicating his reply.
“He say he bane fix das machine an’ he bane want to try him out. Ay tank, by yiminy, it bane lucky he try him yust den.”
It was indeed a lucky thing for the Narwhal and all upon her that the deaf-mute had been tinkering with the motor and had started the machine at exactly the right instant. Scarcely had the schooner cleared the reef when, to the north, the bay was blotted from sight by a white wall, a roar like a cataract came booming across the water and sea birds flew screaming past with wings aslant.
One glance Cap’n Pem gave and then, at the top of his leathern lungs, he bellowed orders fast and furiously. The men, yet at their posts, leaped to his bidding. Captain Edwards who was still at the wheel tugged desperately at the spokes. Mr. Kemp himself led the willing crew aloft and, working like demons, the men stripped the vessel of her lighter sails. And not an instant too soon. Before the first reef cringle was knotted in the foresail, the squall was upon them. With a maniacal shriek the gale tore through the rigging, the water dashed in bucketfuls of icy spray across the decks, and at the sudden irresistible pressure the Narwhal heeled until half her decks were awash, and a raging blizzard blotted out sea and land.
Farther and farther the staunch old schooner heeled to the wind. Clinging to shrouds, backstays, and rigging, the men and boys waited, expecting each second that the schooner would actually capsize. The sleet beat upon them, stinging like needles, and the blinding snow swirled and eddied and piled in drifts upon the deck.
Cap’n Pem’s mouth opened and shut. Mr. Kemp cupped his hands to his lips, but not a word could be heard above the terrific din of the howling wind, the rattle of hail, the roaring of the gale in the sails, the whipping of loose rigging, the creak and groans of straining spars and the lashing thunder of the rapidly rising seas. Then slowly, inch by inch, the Narwhal swung around. Gradually she righted, the water poured in cataracts from her scuppers and, shaking herself like an impatient horse, she leaped forward and tore madly through the foaming water towards the south.
Onward she sped through the blizzard, before the howling gale. With jaws hard set and eyes straining, the three men at the wheel panted and strained and threw their weight upon the spokes in a mighty effort to hold her to her course. Forward, Mr. Kemp and two men huddled in the lee of the winch and peered ahead, striving to pierce the eddying, whirling wall of white. The two boys, awed, frightened, and shivering, crouched beside the deck house, too fascinated, too thrilled to go below for warmer garments. Twice great dim shapes loomed ahead. Each time the frenzied shout of the lookout came in time and the Narwhal sped past the bergs in safety. Again and again a thundering crash shook the schooner from stem to stern as her plunging bow sheared through floating cakes of ice. Once a dark mass of rocks loomed for an instant within a hundred yards and the next second was gone, swallowed up in the all-enveloping white.
But luck was with those on the Narwhal. By a miracle she escaped the bergs; no large pan ice lay in her course; jagged reefs and rock-bound islets were safely passed, and an hour after she had first started on her mad rush before the gale, the squall ceased as suddenly as it had commenced. The wind dropped to a steady blow, the snow ceased to fall, blue sky showed overhead, and, ten minutes later, the decks were streaming with water and there was a steady downpour from aloft as the sun melted the tons of ice and snow that had accumulated during the brief but terrific blizzard.
“Didn’t I tell ye it’d blow a rip-snorter?” exclaimed Cap’n Pem triumphantly, as, with sails once more spread, the Narwhal turned back on her course. “I knowed it,” he continued, “drat that there cat!”
“B’gorra thin we’ll be afther havin’ foine luck fer the rist av the cruise,” declared Mike. “Shure, the poor puss is gone entoirely. Didn’t Oi see her with me own eyes—washed clane overboarrd whin the old schooner wuz afther thyrin’ for to do the lay-me-down-to-slape stunt back there.”
“Oh, that’s too bad!” cried Tom. “Couldn’t you save her?”
“Save her, is it!” exclaimed Mike. “Shure yez wuz there and ’tis well yez arre afther knowin’ ’twas a-savin’ av our own souls we wuz thinkin’ av—and divvil a bit av the cat’s.”
“Derned ef I ain’t glad,” declared Pem. “Mebbe we’ll be gittin’ on a mite better now.”
Mike grinned, winked an eye at the boys and, as he turned away, remarked, “Shure, ye ould croaker, Oi’d not be afther countin’ av me chickens afore they do be hatched, thin. ’Tis noine loives a cat does be afther havin’ and b’gorra by the same token she’ll be a-comin’ back and be a-drowndin’ eight toimes yit, loike as not.”
“Shet up, ye dumb fool!” shouted the old whaleman. “We’re consarned well rid o’ her.”
“Well, we’ve still four cats aboard,” Jim reminded him teasingly. “And two of them are black.”
Cap’n Pem glared at the boy and stumped off without another word.
Slowly the Narwhal beat back to the northward. Two days later she entered Rowe’s Welcome and came to anchor in the sheltered bay within a short distance of the shore. Close to the spot, near the mouth of a river, were a score or more of Eskimo skin tents, and upon the shingle at the river’s mouth were drawn dozens of kayaks. Before the Narwhal’s chains roaring from the hawse holes had roused the echoes of the hills, the Eskimos were paddling towards the schooner. At their first glance the boys saw that here at last were the Eskimos they had always pictured. Clad in garments of skin and fur they came scrambling over the Narwhal’s rail, laughing and grinning, copper-faced and slant-eyed, but far cleaner than those at Hebron or Disko, and with something about them which at once marked them as true primitive people untouched by civilization. Their spears, harpoons, and arrows were tipped with ivory or bone, their faces were tattooed and their garments were highly decorated with beads and skin embroidery.
Presently, from the waist of the ship, came roars of laughter and good-natured shouts. The boys, glancing up, saw a number of the crew leaning over the bulwarks while others were hurrying to join the group.
“What’n tarnation’s up now?” exclaimed Cap’n Pem as with the boys by his side he hurried forward.
As they reached the crowd of men, Swanson straightened up from the rail over which he was leaning, took his pipe from his mouth and grinned under his big yellow mustache. With a humorous twinkle in his deep-set blue eyes he remarked, “Ay tank das cat bane come back.”
As the old whaleman peered over the ship’s side, his eyes seemed about to pop from his head, his jaw dropped and he stared down at the kayaks below as if he had seen a ghost. Perched on the rounded skin deck of one of the canoes was the black cat!
“Well, I’ll be everlastin’ly keelhauled!” ejaculated the old man and, as a roar of laughter rose from the men’s throats, he jammed his cap over his eyes and stumped aft.
But even the superstitious old whaleman could find nothing in the way of ill luck with which to blame the cat during the next few days. The Eskimos had quantities of walrus ivory, many fine skins and pelts and a goodly amount of whalebone on hand, and this was soon in the Narwhal’s hold while the natives were richer in calico, knives, iron, beads and matches than they had ever dreamed of being.
Old Pem fairly beamed, and he rubbed his calloused hands gleefully as he saw the bales, packages, and bundles being stowed. “Purty nice little nest egg,” he chuckled. “Nigh two thousand dollars wuth o’ stuff I reckon. Swan, if this keeps on if we don’t go sailin’ inter New Bedford full up.”
The boys were far more interested in the Eskimos and their village than in the skins and bone. They spent most of their time ashore, and with Mr. Kemp or Unavik as interpreters they learned much of the Eskimos’ life and ways. They watched them fish in the river, made friends with the Eskimo boys, played with the roly-poly children, and spent hours in the tents watching the women as they chewed the hides to cure them and deftly fashioned the skins and furs into garments.
“Gee, they use bone needles!” exclaimed Jim the first time he saw one of the women sewing a pair of moccasins, “and thimbles made of raw hide and threads of sinew. Say, I wonder how they’d like real needles and thread.”
The next time they went ashore they carried a supply of needles, thread, thimbles and other sewing material and presented them to the women. Instantly the crude bone and rawhide utensils were cast aside and with beaming faces and ejaculations of delight, the women chattered and laughed as they experimented with the bright steel needles and shiny thimbles. As Tom said, they were like children with new toys and when in return—for even the least gift calls for a return present with the Eskimos—the women loaded the boys down with exquisitely worked moccasins, shirts of eider skins, blouse-like coats of fox and seal and robes of wolf and musk ox skins, the two lads were as pleased and excited as the women had been.
“Say, we’ve got to learn to talk Eskimo,” declared Tom. “It’ll be lots more fun if we can talk to these people.”
So, with Mr. Kemp’s help, the two boys set diligently to work to learn the Eskimos’ language and progressed rapidly. At first they found it a most difficult task to pronounce the odd, clucking gutturals, but once they mastered the rudiments they got on famously. Within a short time they were able to ask questions and understand the replies, and they had acquired quite a vocabulary of names and words.
In the meantime, the crew of the ship had not been idle. The schooner had been stripped of sails, topmasts and yards were sent down, and preparations made for the coming winter. Daily the whale boats had been manned, and under their spritsails had gone dancing off across the bay in search of whales. Sometimes they were gone for several days and returned empty handed, but often they would come sailing back in a long line and towing the carcasses of one or two huge bowheads. Then every one worked like beavers, cutting in and boiling until the oil and bone were safely under hatches.
At first the boys were crazy to go out on these hunts, but after one or two experiences, they decided there was far more of interest about the village and the shores, and devoted their time to hunting and paddling about the Welcome in a kayak which they had secured for themselves.
Near the village there was little game, for the Eskimos’ dogs roamed about, picking up every stray hare, ptarmigan, or other live thing, and so the boys went farther and farther afield on their excursions. The weather still held warm and pleasant, although the nights were cold and the little ponds and lakes between the hills were coated with ice. A few miles from the village the boys found game in abundance. One spot in particular was a favorite hunting ground—a little island in the broad estuary of the Welcome where the Wager River emptied into the bay. Here there were always ducks in the coves, hares nibbled the stunted shrubs among the rocks, ptarmigan gathered in flocks on the southern sides of the hills, and twice the boys had secured seals which they had surprised basking on the shore. One of these was a magnificent silver seal; the other a half-grown hooded seal. The two handsome hides had been cured and made into garments by the boys’ Eskimo women friends.
One day as the two boys were paddling their kayak around the island keeping a sharp lookout for game, Jim muttered a low exclamation and pointed towards the open water of the estuary. Tom peered intently as he ceased paddling, but for a moment could see nothing. Then, a few hundred yards away, something broke the surface of the water and a tiny column of spray rose in the air.
“Golly, it’s a whale!” cried Tom in subdued tones. “Say, let’s go for him!”
“All right,” assented Jim, “it’s a little fellow—a white whale, I guess. Say, won’t it be fine if we can get him all by ourselves?”
Swinging the kayak, Tom drove his paddle into the water while Jim, laying aside his rifle, got out the harpoon and placed the lance ready for use.
Apparently totally unaware that enemies were near, the creature remained almost stationary, now and then rolling lazily at the surface, sometimes raising its tail and bringing it down with a resounding splash as if in play, and constantly blowing. Rapidly the kayak approached. Jim grasped the harpoon firmly, saw that the line was clear and, shaking with excitement, he prepared to strike. Then, as the frail craft slipped within a dozen feet of the cetacean and Jim raised his arm, he realized that it was no white whale, but a strange, dull-colored, bluish creature with the skin covered with irregular blackish spots. But, whatever it was, the animal was within striking range and, summoning all his strength, Jim hurled the iron into the spotted animal’s back just as it rose above the surface to blow.
The next instant a volcano seemed to have burst into eruption beneath the waves. The water boiled and frothed; a broad tail flashed and struck and swung to right and left, the kayak danced and careened and bobbed upon the heaving surface. Then as Jim, frightened half out of his wits by the actions of the strange beast, was about to cut the line, the creature hurled itself forward and raced off like a cyclone. With a terrific jerk the kayak swung about, tipped until it almost capsized, and went tearing after the stricken animal. This was something the boys had not counted on. They had watched the Eskimos when they struck white whales and had intended to follow the native method of throwing overboard the float of skin. They had no intention of being towed in a cranky kayak by a maddened whale. But the line had kinked and had fouled. Jim, despite his frantic efforts, could not free it while it was under the terrific strain, and so it was a case of either being towed and trusting to luck to escape being capsized and drowned, or cutting the line.
“Don’t cut it!” screamed Tom as he saw Jim raise his heavy hunting knife. “Wait till we see we’re in danger!”
Breathing hard, thrilled with the excitement and yet filled with terror, Jim waited, knife in hand, while the whale sped this way and that, sounded and milled; but to the boys’ surprise, never breached. But as the bouyant kayak continued right side up and nothing happened, the boys gained confidence and each time the creature slackened its pace Jim hauled in line until the kayak was almost within striking distance of the whale. Then, so suddenly that Tom could not check the kayak’s motion, the creature halted in its rush and the next instant dashed straight towards the canoe.
Jim gave a terrified scream of warning. Tom dug his paddle into the water and as the kayak responded to the effort and swung slightly, the spotted creature dashed by within a foot of the craft.
Jim, who had been expecting to kill the animal an instant before, still held the lance in his hand. As the cetacean rushed past him, he lunged forward and scarcely knowing what he did, plunged the weapon into the creature’s side. At the blow, the animal threw itself from the water, the lance was wrenched from Jim’s grip and the boys’ eyes grew wide in wonder. In the brief instant that the whale was out of water they had seen that a long, gleaming shaft projected from its head!
But before they could utter a cry, before they realized what had happened, the big spotted body crashed back into the water, bloody froth spouted from its blow hole and with a convulsive flip of its tail it rolled over on its side against the kayak, stone dead.
“Whew!” cried Jim, as he wiped the perspiration from his face and blinked his eyes. “We did catch a tartar that time!”
“You bet we did!” agreed Tom heartily. “But we got him just the same. Gosh, but that was a dandy stroke of yours—getting him on the wing that way. And did you see his head—he’s been struck before and the lance or iron’s sticking in his nose. I wonder what the dickens he is anyway.”
“Gee Christopher!” cried Jim who had been examining their catch. “That’s not a lance in his nose—it belongs there—it’s a sort of horn. Look, it’s like ivory and twisted.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Tom. “I know what ’tis—we’ve killed the schooner’s namesake. It’s a narwhal!”
“Golly, you’re right!” cried Jim. “Won’t Cap’n Pem and the others be surprised! But say—I’d never have dared touch him if I’d known. Remember how Mr. Kemp told us about these fellows driving their tusks right through a whaleboat and sinking it?”
“I’ll say I do,” replied Tom. “I know what they’ll say—‘fools rush in,’ you know.”
“Well, fools or not, we won,” declared Jim, “and this old fellow’s horn’ll make some trophy up in our room.”
Elated at their unexpected capture, the boys forgot all about their hunt and, fastening a line about the narwhal’s tail, they started to tow him to the schooner. It was slow, backbreaking work, but when at last they reached their vessel and showed their catch to those on board, they felt amply rewarded for their labors.
“By the love av hivvin!” cried Mike, who was the first to see the dead creature. “Shure and ’tis a unicorn yez do be afther killin’!”
“I’ll be swizzled!” exclaimed Cap’n Pem. “Ye everlastin’ young scallawags, what ye mean by a-goin’ in on one o’ them critters? Ye’re lucky he didn’t sink ye. Jes like ye though—fools allers——”
“I know it!” laughed Tom. “I told Jimmy you’d say that. But we got him and didn’t get hurt, even if the cat did come back!”
“Jes dumb luck,” declared the old whaleman. Then, as Captain Edwards appeared, he shouted, “Look a-here, didn’t I tell ye these here boys wuz born to be whalers? Jes take a squint ’longside an’ see what the young scallawags been a-doin’.”
“I’ll be——” ejaculated the skipper. “Reckon you’re proud of yourselves. Whoppin’ big fellow, too. Give you a tussle, didn’t he?”
“Oh, not so much,” replied Tom nonchalantly. “But he had us scared. The line fouled and he towed us every which way and then went for us. And say, you ought to have seen Jim get him! Lanced him as he went scooting by the kayak full speed.”
“Darned lucky he did!” declared Mr. Kemp who had joined the group. “If he hadn’t the blamed critter’d have turned and drove his horn through that kayak and through you too, like as not.”
“Well, we didn’t know,” laughed Jim, “or we wouldn’t have tackled him. But I’m not sorry now. Just the same, we’ll know better next time. I’m not a bit anxious to catch another narwhal.”
“I don’t know as we really did, this time,” said Tom. “Seems to me the narwhal caught us and we didn’t have much to say about it.”
“H’lo!” exclaimed Unavik strolling up. “Ugh! me say bimeby you feller be big hunter. Gimme t’bac!”
On the morning after their capture of the narwhal, the boys came on deck to find the weather completely changed. Above stretched a dull gray sky, great flakes of snow were drifting down, the land was already hidden under a thin coat of white and, at the first touch of the biting wind, the two dodged back to their cabin to reappear clad from head to foot in their Eskimo garments.
Mr. Kemp laughed heartily as he saw them. “All ready for the winter, eh?” he cried. “What you goin’ to wear when it’s really cold?”
“You can’t say anything,” retorted Tom, “you’ve got on a sweater and a reefer and oilskins yourself.”
“’Tis a bit sharp, I’ll admit,” replied the second officer. “Looks like summer’s about over. Them Eskimos know it. If this keeps up, they’ll be a-setting up their igloos to-morrow.”
“Why, the water’s freezing!” exclaimed Jim who had peered over the schooner’s side. “Hurrah, we’ll be able to walk ashore now!”
“Walk ashore!” exclaimed Mr. Kemp. “Why, bless you, if the weather keeps on as it oughta, you could run a train acrost the bay inside a week.”
Already thin ice had formed on the surface of the water and, although each swell coming into the Welcome broke the newly formed ice with a curious crackling sound, fresh ice formed almost as rapidly as it was destroyed, and the upended little cakes were congealing in a jagged, hummocky surface that bade fair to imprison the waves very soon and lock them fast for many months.
The rigging was white with snow and a couple of inches of the soft feathery blanket lay on the decks. The crew, clad in oilskins and sweaters, with caps pulled over ears and mittens on hands, were busy hammering and pounding as they put the finishing touches to the long, shedlike structure that they had erected extending from the poop to the foremast. Ashore, the Eskimos were dragging their kayaks far from the water’s edge and were placing them upside down on racks of whale’s ribs. The women were piling stones upon the edges of their skin dwellings and the boys were yelling shrilly and cracking their long whips as they gathered the dogs together.
Hourly the cold increased. The snowflakes became finer and fell faster and faster; the wind came in fitful gusts and whirled the snow into drifts. When the pale light faded soon after noon and the boys knew that the sun had set, land, sea, and ship were covered deep with snow.
Day after day the storm continued. The Eskimos’ tents were buried halfway to their peaked tops in the drifts; the rough plank house upon the schooner was like a huge snowbank, and even the tough and hardened old whalemen had donned suits of skins and furs. Then one day came a muffled hail through the blinding snow, and looking over the Narwhal’s side, the surprised boys saw two of the Eskimos standing upon the snow-covered ice beneath them.
“Hurrah, they can walk on it!” cried Tom and, followed by Jim, he clambered over the schooner’s rails and leaped on to the ice.
“Gee, we’re frozen in!” yelled Jim. “It’s really winter. Come on, let’s go and see what the Eskimos are doing.”
“Look out, ye young scallawags,” roared Cap’n Pem. “Ye’ll git lost.”
“No danger,” called back Tom. “We’ll get one of the Eskimos to go with us.”
Turning, he spoke to the fur-clad men in their own tongue and accompanied by one of them, the two boys pushed their way through the snow towards shore.
“Oh, they’re building igloos!” exclaimed Jim as they came in sight of the Eskimos. “And on the ice too.”
Interestedly the two boys watched the natives as they labored at their winter homes. With long-bladed snow knives carved from walrus tusks the men cut the blocks of frozen snow and piled them in a circle, tier on tier, each a little smaller than the one preceding. Rapidly the low-domed huts grew and took on form and soon the first one was completed. With yells of delight Tom and Jim crawled into the tunnel-like entrance and found themselves within the igloo.
“Say, isn’t this jolly!” cried Tom. “Come on, Jim, let’s make one for ourselves. It’ll be great sport having an igloo with the Eskimos.”
Enthusiastically the two set to work, borrowing snow knives from their Eskimo friends, but they soon found that building an igloo was an art and they joined heartily in the Eskimos’ merriment when the wall tumbled in and all their work came to nothing. They were not discouraged, and presently one of the Eskimo boys came to their aid. With his help the boys soon got the knack of the work and before it was time to return to the schooner for dinner their igloo was completed.
The night was almost as bright as day with the Northern Lights reflected from the vast stretch of spotless white. By midnight the storm was over; stars twinkled brilliantly in the deep purple sky, the little group of igloos rose above the flat, white plain of ice-like, snow-covered bee hives. The wind was so bitingly, intensely cold that the boys were glad indeed to seek shelter in the deck house with its cheery red-hot stove.
Then followed days filled with constant novelty, interest, and delight for the two boys. They went with the Eskimos on hunts for seal, and learned to find the blow holes in the ice through which the creatures came up to breathe. With their snow knives they cut great rectangular slabs of frozen snow and placed them upright near the holes as windbreaks, and with rifles grasped in their fur-gloved hands, and warm as toast in their eider skin undergarments and sealskin costumes, they lay upon the surface of the frozen bay and watched the holes while the wind swept downward from the North Pole, and the thermometer dropped to many degrees below zero. Often their vigil would gain them nothing. But many times a big hooded seal, a sheeny silversides, or a magnificent harp seal would fall a victim to their rifles. Much of their time too they spent in their igloo which they had fitted up exactly like those of their Eskimo neighbors, with skins and furs covering the bench of ice around the sides, a soapstone lamp filled with whale oil, with a moss wick to give light and heat, and with their weapons and trophies scattered about. From one of the natives they had purchased a team of dogs. Unavik had made them a sledge, and after many trials, unending merriment, countless upsets, and getting hopelessly tangled, the two boys had learned to drive their huskies fairly well. There was nothing they loved better than to go sledding over the frozen snow, yelling at their dogs, cracking their long whips, and now and then leaping on to the vehicle and traveling like the wind through the frosty stinging air lit by the pale winter sun or the gorgeous Aurora.
Much time also they spent in the Eskimos’ igloos and, their first squeamishness at the dirt and filth of the people being overcome, they found them very pleasant and good company. Sometimes, as a blizzard howled outside, and the dogs cowered whimpering at the mouth of the entrance tunnel, the Eskimos would while away the hours telling stories. Some of these were very quaint, others were humorous and still others were almost poems with their vivid descriptive phrases and beautiful sentiments.
But the boys’ favorites were the folklore tales about the birds and animals they knew so well. Usually some chance remark or question of the boys would start the story and all would listen attentively while the gray-haired, wrinkled, old ananating (grandmother) would tell in story form why certain things were so. Once, for example, Jim was examining a reindeer skin and called Tom’s attention to the white rump and the stubby little tail. Amaluk, who was making a snow knife, glanced up. “Perhaps,” he said in the dialect the boys now understood perfectly, “Nepaluka will tell you how the reindeer lost their tails.”
“Do,” begged Tom, “tell us the story, Ananating.”
The old woman was busily mending a skin shirt, her near-sighted eyes close to her work, her clawlike fingers moving deftly as she plied the bone needle—for she alone of all the women still preferred the Eskimo needles to those of the white men.
“Ai ai!” she exclaimed. “The clothes are mended and my eyes are weary and perchance it may be well to tell of Amook and the reindeer.”
Laying aside the carefully mended shirt she leaned back among the thick bearskins and began.
“Many ages ago,” she said in her droning voice, “before the Eskimos first came to the land, all the reindeer were brown from head to foot and all wore bushy tails like the foxes. In those times lived a great anticoot (magician) named Amook and to him belonged all the animals and birds. And all the creatures roamed at will except the reindeer, for these Amook kept hidden in a great hole in the earth.
“Every day Amook would come from the hole and, after pulling a big stone over the entrance to his home, he would travel far and wide caring for his creatures. In those days the birds and animals were all one color, and when winter came and snow fell upon the land their brown bodies were plain to be seen and the creatures saw one another afar, so it was easy indeed for the owls and hawks to see the ptarmigan and kill them, and for the foxes and wolves to see the hares and devour them. At last so many were killed that Amook grew afraid that his live things would all be destroyed, and he would be left without food to eat or furs to make his clothes. So, being a magician, he made many spells, until at last, by touching the fur of an animal or the feathers of a bird, he could change the brown to white. Then, when the winter came, Amook would go forth and call the birds and the beasts together, and as they came at his call, he would stroke them with his hands, and they would go forth white and spotless. But soon Amook was again troubled, for when spring came and the snow melted and the rocks and moss were bare, the white creatures were like spots of snow upon the brown land and fell easy prey to their enemies. Then from far and near the birds and beasts flocked to their master and begged him to make them brown once more. So Amook made another spell in his hole under the earth, and when he came forth and touched the birds and the beasts, behold! they were changed from white to brown as before.
“So, as each winter came, Amook would change the brown creatures to white and when the winter had passed and the geese came to the northland, he would again change the white to brown.
“But some of the creatures were wary and would not come to their master’s bidding and Amook had hard work to capture them. It was thus with the great bear for he loved his white coat that helped him to hide on the bergs and floes, and try as Amook might, he never caught him to change his coat to brown, and so the bear to this day is always white and changes not to brown in the spring. So too, the white owl in his white coat could perch motionless on a rock and all creatures would take him for a harmless bit of ice and would approach so near that he could pounce upon them easily. Time and again Amook crept close to catch the owl, but never did he grasp him, although the tips of his fingers touched the owl’s feathers as he flew off and to this day you may see the round brown finger marks left by Amook on the feathers of the owl. The weasel too, timid and suspicious, but too cowardly to disobey his master, crept sneaking from the rocks and crouched snarling to the earth as Amook passed his hand over his back, and the tip of his tail, which was hidden in the rocks, is always black and his belly that was pressed upon the earth remains ever white. Many other things—the geese and ducks, the snipes and hawks—flew southward before Amook came forth to change their colors and so, throughout the year, their coats remain the same. But the hare and the fox[2] and the ptarmigan came always at Amook’s call and grew cunning and hid safely from their enemies.
“Through all this time the reindeer, deep in their hole, remained brown, for under the earth there was neither winter nor summer. One day as Amook came back to his hole the raven, flying by, saw him step out of sight. Always curious, the raven wondered what Amook had hidden in the earth and pondering on the matter he flew to his friend the fox. ‘Ai, ai!’ he exclaimed. ‘Tell me, O brother, what your master keeps in his home beneath the earth. You whom he fondles and strokes to white or brown must know.’
“But the fox knew not and said so to the raven. This made the black bird more curious yet and he asked, ‘Why have you never found out? Have you never wondered, O brother, where this Amook gets his power to turn brown to white and white to brown? Think you how fine it would be to know the secret of his power. With it in thy paws thou couldst change color at will and like the owl pose as a bit of ice in summer or like a bare rock in winter. Truly, O little friend, you would find hunting easy.’
“Now the fox was a born thief and most cunning, and the words of the raven set him thinking. At last he spoke. ‘With thy help, black brother, I may find out. We will hide close to the hole of Amook and when he comes forth thou wilt fly high in the air and croak loudly, and when Amook looks up I will place a bit of rock beneath the cover of the hole so it will not close tightly. Then, when Amook has passed, we will enter his dwelling and steal the charm.’
“So it came about that when Amook again went forth, the cunning fox lurked near, and, in the air above, the raven croaked hoarsely. Just as the two had planned, Amook looked up at the sound and the fox slyly slipped a bit of stone under the edge of the door to Amook’s house, and when he shoved the door in place a small opening was left which he did not see.
“Then, when Amook had gone, the raven flew down, and with his friend the fox entered Amook’s home. After a long time they came to a great valley and there, feeding on rich green moss, was a great herd of reindeer all brown and with bushy tails. The fox and the raven were filled with wonder at this sight of the strange creatures with the branching horns, and the deer, who had never seen another living thing save Amook, were also filled with wonder, and with fear as well, at sight of the fox and his friend.
“But the raven with his flattery and the fox with his cunning soon overcame the reindeer’s fears and talked with them. The deer knew nothing of Amook’s spell, for they had never been changed to white; and the fox and raven, finding the deer dull and stupid, began to tell them of the wonders of the outside world. At last the simple deer were interested, and longed to go forth and gladly followed the raven and the fox to the opening in the rocks.
“One after the other they squeezed through and just as the last one had come forth Amook came home. When he saw that the deer had escaped, he rushed forward and with outstretched hands tried to push the deer back into the hole. But the deer, pleased at the outside world, struck at him with their feet and where Amook’s hands had touched their foreheads broad white marks appeared, for Amook had been forth to turn all creatures white for the coming winter and the charm was still upon his hands.
“Then Amook, running about, seized the deer by their tails and strove to pull them into the hole. The deer struggled and tugged and all at once their tails broke off in Amook’s hands and the magician, tumbling head over heels, rolled into the opening beneath the stone.
“Then the deer pushed the bit of rock from beneath the stone door which fell into place and shut Amook up forever. But as the deer’s leader closed the rock door, one of the prongs of his antlers was caught between the stones and in drawing it free it was bent and twisted in front of the deer’s face.
“And so, to this day, every reindeer has a twisted part to his horns before his face and a stubby tail, and where Amook grasped their tails and touched their rumps and pushed on their foreheads, the white patches still remain.”
“Bully!” cried Tom, quite forgetting the old woman did not understand English, and then thanking her in her own tongue and telling her what a fine story it was, the boys started to leave.
At that instant a tousled black head appeared in the entrance tunnel, a broad face grinned up, and Unavik crawled into the igloo.
“H’lo!” he exclaimed in his invariable greeting. “Me feller see plenty reindeer. Sure Mike, much plenty! Mebbe you like for shootum?”
“Would we!” yelled the two boys in unison. “Come on, Unavik. You bet we’d like to shootum.”
Outside the igloo, Unavik’s sledge stood waiting. Stopping only to get their guns the two boys piled on to the sledge, Unavik cracked his whip, shouted to the shaggy dogs and they were off. Over the snow-clad land, through the still, intensely cold air they sped, swinging along frozen water courses, toiling up steep hills, dashing with dizzying speed down the slopes for mile after mile. Then, with a low command, Unavik halted his team, and signaling to the boys for caution, he unhitched his dogs and led the way up a low knoll. Crouching on the snow beside the Eskimo, Tom and Jim peered over the ridge. Below was a small swale or valley and there, quietly feeding on the gray moss scraped free from snow with their broad hoofs, was a herd of fully fifty big reindeer.
But they were far out of range; there was no cover by which the boys could stalk them, and it seemed as if their trip would be fruitless. As the boys, disappointed, drew back, Unavik was rapidly freeing his dogs from their rawhide harness, and with a low word of command he led them to the hill top and turned them loose.
With low growls the animals leaped forward and tore down the slope towards the deer, yelping and barking, teeth bared and hair bristling. Instantly, at sight of the dogs, the reindeer gathered together in a close packed bunch, tails in center and threatening antlers in a defensive ring. For a moment the dogs hesitated, and circled about, uttering short savage snarls, but knowing well the deadly peril that lurked in those sharp, lowered prongs and knife-edged hoofs. Then one big husky, more courageous than his fellows, sprang forward with a yelp, and the next second was tossed howling and bleeding for a dozen feet in the air.
Unavik touched the boys’ arms and beckoned for them to follow. Down the hill he led them, across the end of the little valley and up a frozen mound of drifted snow. Intent on the dogs, the deer gave no heed to the fur clad figures sneaking across the snow, if indeed they saw them, and in a few moments the three were within a few hundred feet of the herd. Taking careful aim at the two largest deer, the boys fired. As the reports rang out across the frozen land, the reindeer threw up their heads and, forgetting the dogs in their new terror, raced down the valley leaving two of their number dead upon the trampled snow. Now was the dogs’ chance, and yelping, snapping, barking, they raced after the deer, nipping at their heels, biting savagely at their flanks like the half-wolves they were. Now and then a deer would turn and strike viciously with his big hoofs at his tormentors and presently the herd again formed in a circle with lowered heads and menacing hoofs. Already they had forgotten the gun shots in the face of this greater peril of the wolfish dogs, and the boys once more raised their rifles to shoot.
“We don’t need more than one more,” whispered Jim. “You kill him, Tom. Your gun’s better at that range.”
Once more, as the report roared out, a deer fell and the herd, now thoroughly terrified, fled at top speed towards the east with the savage dogs at their heels. The dogs followed only a short distance. There in the valley were the fallen deer and the scent of blood and, snarling and baying, they came tearing back and dashed ravenously upon the body of the last deer killed. Before they could tear the skin or bury their sharp white teeth in the carcass, Unavik was among them, lashing out with his cruel whip, shouting shrill orders and striking cutting blows right and left. Growling sullenly, the dogs drew back, crouching, whimpering, cringing with tails between legs and ears laid back. Paying no heed to the threatening bared teeth and updrawn lips, the Eskimo stepped among them, rapidly secured the thongs about their necks together and then, with a word to the boys, drove his huskies over the knoll before him.
In a few moments he was back with the sledge, and with the boys’ help the deer’s body was lifted upon it and lashed securely in place. But one deer was all the sled could carry, and Unavik told the boys they would have to carry the first deer to the village and return with the sledge and more dogs for the others.
“But won’t something eat them while we’re gone?” asked Tom.
“Sure Mike, mebbe,” replied the Eskimo who, proud of his fragmentary English, never spoke to the boys in his own tongue if he could avoid it. “Me say plenty wolf, plenty bear, mebbe eatum.”
“Hurrah!” cried Jim as a sudden idea came to him. “Say, Tom, we’ll stay here and watch while Unavik goes to the village. Then if wolves or bears come we can shoot them.”
“That’s a bully scheme,” agreed Tom. “Go ahead, Unavik, we’ll wait here.”
For a moment the Eskimo hesitated. He knew the boys had no idea as to where they were and he was responsible for their safety. But the sky was clear, there was no danger of a blizzard and as long as they remained within sight of the dead deer there seemed no danger.
“A’right,” he agreed presently. “No try walk. You feller make get los’ die plenty quick, me say; sure Mike!”
“We’ll stay right here,” declared Tom. “No fear of our wandering off.”
Satisfied that the boys were all right, Unavik shouted to his dogs, cracked his whip, shoved on the handles of his sled to start it, and the next minute was speeding away towards the village.