 CHAPTER 16 A Fortunate Discovery His thigh and his dog reached the top of the cliff and were about to step upon the uneven, snow-covered table-land which lay before them. The boy's eyes chanced to light upon a strange-looking brown mass which lay on the rock beneath the shelter of a protecting ledge. What do you suppose that is, he said to the dog, at the same time, stepping aside to examine it? It's a net, he commented. Too fine for a fish-net must be a bird-net. That'd be good luck for us if it were summer. Place must be alive with birds then from the looks of the deserted nests. But now, now you're no good to us. He kicked the net contemptuously. Tell us one thing, though, he confided to Rover. There are people on this island or at least have been, natives of some kind they must be, for no white man would have the patience to make a net of seal skin as fine as that. Question is, were they just camping here to gather eggs or do they live here? If they live here what kind of people are they? Well, anyway, let's go see. Wearily he dragged his tired limbs up a gentle slope. Wearily the old dog followed on. But as they reached the crest the dog became suddenly alert. His ears cocked up, his legs stiff, he sniffed the air. What's that, old fellow? Birds? Give a bit of bird-dog blood in you. Lots of leaders have, but I guess you're mistaken, not birds this late in the year. He moved forward a few feet then his mouth flew open but no sound came out. He had seen a white streak flit across the snow. He had. There was another and another. Slowly he backed away. Followed reluctantly by the dog he retreated to the rocky shelf where lay the net. We may be able to use you yet, he remarked as he picked up an end of the net. If you're not too rotten you'll serve us a good turn. There are ptarmigan out there, don't know how many but enough if we catch them. Ptarmigan are good too, he smiled at the dog, good as quailin' about his plump. Boy, oh boy, won't we feast though if only we can catch them. But he sobered suddenly. How I'm going to drop both ends of this net at just the right moment is more than I can tell. The net proved to be in serviceable condition. It was some ten yards by three wide and was of a finely woven mesh. Two ten-foot poles lay farther back under the ledge. One of these was quickly attached to an end of the net, then the net was wound upon it. The second stake was fastened to the remaining loose end. Using the net to a level stretch at the top of a ridge, he unrolled it then for a full five minute stood studying it. At last he turned thoughtfully to the right and strolled along the net. Suddenly something caught his foot and he sprawled upon the ground. Rising he looked at the thing that had tripped him. Then a light of joy spread over his face. Creeping willows he exclaimed, the very thing. He spent the next three minutes pulling at long strands of creeping willows. When he had found two long strong ones, he left them still fast to the earth at one end and went for his net. One pole he set on end and proceeded to fasten it there by the aid of the creeping willows, gying it to right and left as a flat pole is often braced. He then ran out the length of his net and having pulled it tight with the other pole perpendicular, he gave this pole a sudden pull and twist, then threw it to the ground. The net went flat. Capital he cried, that will do it. Having reset his net he took a long circular route. He came up at last a hundred yards from his fence like net. The dog had followed meekly at his heels, but now, seeming to sense what was needed, he began rocking back and forth, first to the right, then to the left. Now and then a white spot rose a foot or two above the snow to soar forward. The boy's eyes snapped. Here was sport that meant life to him and to his dog if they won. Now they neared the net, his heart beat fast. Suppose the birds should rise and soar away, then all this work would be lost. But they still ran or fluttered forward. Just the eight or ten of them, was his mental comment. Now they were nearing the net, veering swiftly to one side the boy raced to the reclining pole. Lifting it lightly he drew the net into position. So white were the birds that he could scarcely distinguish them from the snow. But suddenly he caught a faint shock, a bird in low flight had struck the net. With wildly beating heart he threw the net to the snow then went racing down its length. Oh! He exclaimed fairly beside himself, two, three, four. Each time he named the count he had drawn a bird from the meshes. At last he was to the end and sank down exhausted. The dog was at his side. Rover old top he murmured, four of them, four beauties. We eat old top, we eat. The dog's eyes rolled hungrily, but he did not offer to touch the birds. With eager trembling fingers the boy tore the feathers from two of the birds, then tossed to the dog the wings, legs, and back, reserving for himself the dark rich meat of the breasts, a food fit for a king's table. He cut this off in thin strips and spread it upon the hard-packed bank of snow. The thermometer must stand at ten below. The thin strips would soon be frozen solid. They would then be almost as palatable as if they had been cooked. With a meal in sight he found his mind becoming more composed. His thoughts wandered back to the question of the nature of the land he had discovered. Little knowing what lay just before him he munched the frozen strips of flesh. Then strengthened and heartened he began making plans for a night on the newly discovered island. A freezing wind swept across the plateau. He must find shelter from this if he was to secure the sleep his tired form demanded. After a search he found a rocky crevice which, with the aid of some squares of snow cut from a nearby bank, he converted it into a three-sided house with the open side away from the wind. On the sheltered sides of the great rocks that lay tumbled about here and there he gathered moss by the armful and carrying it to his house made a thick soft bed for himself and the dog. His next thought was of a fire he had no desire to eat more raw meat. Besides he was not unmindful of the cheering influence of even a tiny blaze. The ground was everywhere overrun with creeping willows. Once he clipped off with his hunting knife and tied in bundles. Some were dry and dead. These he kept in a separate bundle. When he had an armload he carried them to a spot near the door of his house. He had no matches but this did not trouble him. Cutting off a foot of a pole used with the net he split it in two pieces. One of these halves he split again and from these smaller pieces he formed a bow and drill of an Eskimo bow drill. With a tough creeping willow runner for a string to his bow with dry moss for tinder he soon had first a smoke then a blaze. Not long after this he was turning a carefully picked and cleaned fowl over a cheerful flame. Having broiled this to a turn he shared it with the dog then lay down to sleep. Before the sweet oblivion of sleep quieted his aching muscles the old haunting questions came back to him. What land? What people? There were but two questions now the third had been temporarily solved. They still had a bird for breakfast and that there were others to be caught he did not doubt. CHAPTER XVII out of the night. Where Marion and Lucille had heard the crash against the door of the boarded up house and had stilled their wildly beating hearts they dragged themselves half way out of their sleeping bags and sat up. What was it? Marion repeated. Her teeth were chattering so she could hardly whisper. It saw the light from the seal oil lamp Lucille whispered a cold shill ran up her back. Shhh! Listen! In a tense moment a dead silence hovered over the room. Had they heard a sound as of low moaning or whining or was that the wind? Marion, whispered Lucille, what sort of a sound does a polar bear make? I don't know, Marion shivered. Whatever it is we're not going to open that door. I—I don't know. The moan came distinctly now and a scratching sound. Perhaps we ought. Perhaps it is someone in trouble. Lucille was silent, she hadn't thought of that. For five minutes they sat there listening. Not a word passed between them. Now and again there came that awful low moan and the scratching. Save for the dismal wail of the wind that had arisen and was singing about the corners of the house there was no other sound. The seal oil lamp in the corner flickered constantly sending a weird yellow light dancing from floor to ceiling. Lucille, said Marion at last, I can't stand it any longer. If it's someone in distress they'll surely freeze and then we could never forgive ourselves. The chain will let the door open a crack. If it's a bear or a wolf or a wild dog he can't break the chain. If it's someone whoever he is even if he's drunk we ought to help him. Lucille shivered but she arose and fumbling about found the butcher-knife. I'll stand by with the knife. She followed Marion as they tiptoed towards the door. The moon was shining brightly through the window. Whatever was at the door they would be able to see it once the door was open a crack. Now, ready, whispered Marion as she grabbed the doorknob and turned it. With wildly beating heart Lucille waited at her side. But the door did not open. It stuck, whispered Marion. I guess you'll have to help me. Reluctantly laying down the knife Lucille put both hands over Marion's and exerted all her strength in a pull. The next instant the door gave way but instead of being permanently held by the chain it was only momentarily checked by it then flew wide open sending both girls crashing to the floor. The rusty staple had broken. Too frightened to breathe they scrambled to their feet. Lucille fumbled about for the knife. Marion seized the door to close it. Then in one breath they exclaimed, Why it's only an Ascamo boy! It was true before them on the snow peering white-faced at them was a native boy probably not over ten years old. He dragged himself to a sitting position then attempted to rise. At this he failed and fell over again. He must be injured, said Marion. Or starved, answered Lucille. It was plain that the boy was at this time quite as much frightened as had been the girls a moment before. We must get him inside and find out if he's hurt, said Lucille, bending over and grasping the boy by the shoulder. As she did this he uttered a low moan of fear and shrank back. Having this the two girls lifted him gently and carrying him inside set him on their sleeping bag with the wall of the room as a prop to his back. I believe his foot's hurt, said Lucille suddenly. See how his skin boot is torn? To cut away the boot which was stiff and frozen was a delicate task. When this and the deerskin sock had been removed they saw that the foot had been indeed badly crushed. The deerskin sock had prevented it from freezing. By carefully pressing and working at it this way and that Lucille determined that there were probably no bones broken. It was, however, swelling rapidly. We must bandage it at once, said Lucille. With what? Lucille's answer was to tear a six-inch strip from the bottom of her underskirt. The wound was then tightly and skillfully bandaged. First thing is something to eat, said Lucille, rising. You stay here and I'll see what I can find to cook something in. She soon returned with a huge brass tea kettle of the Russian type. Into this she put snow and hung it over the seal oil lamp. Soon a bit of fish was boiling. Better warm stuff at first, she explained, he must be nearly frozen. All this time the boy, with his look of fear gone, sat staring at them, his big brown eyes full of wonder. I'd like to know where he came from and how it is that he's alone, said Marion. So would I, said Lucille. Well, anyway, we'll have to do the best we can for him. You know what it says somewhere about entertaining angels. Yes, and that reminds me, he must have a place to sleep. I'll go see what I can find. She returned presently with an armload of deerskins. There's everything out there she smiled nodding toward the native village, just as if they were gone overnight and would be back in the morning. I wonder, said Marion with a little thrill, if they will. An hour later with a pole propped solidly against the door, with the boy slumbering soundly in the opposite corner and the seal oil lamp flickering low, the girls once more gave themselves over to sleep. One day awoke they found the cabin encircled by a howling whirlwind of snow, one of those wild storms that come up so suddenly in the Arctic seas and as suddenly subside. The frozen fish, which was a large one, sufficed for both breakfast and dinner for the three of them. The boy, a bright little fellow with the ruddy brown cheeks of an Italian peasant boy, but with the slight squint of eyes and flatness of nose peculiar to these natives of the North, watched every move they made with great interest. They tried from time to time to talk to him, but he did not apparently know a word of English, and even to the few words of Eskimo that they knew, he gave no response. Oh Lucille, Marion exclaimed at last, are we in Russia or America? Who is this boy? Where are his people? Lucille did not reply. She was too deeply perplexed for words. But the boy, seeming to have caught something of the purport of Marion's words, tore a splinter from the wall-board of the cabin, and, having held it in the blaze of the seal oil lamp until it was charred, began to draw on the floor. First he drew a large circle, then a small one. Next on the large circle he drew lines to represent men, as children often do, a straight line for back and one each for arm and a leg, with a circle for a head. When he had drawn many of these he drew a square within the smaller circle, and within the square drew two characters to represent persons. He next drew between the two circles many irregular figures. In the midst of this mass of irregular figures he drew a character for a person. He made a motion with his hand to indicate that the irregular figures between the circles were in motion. Next he made a motion with his charcoal pencil to indicate that the lone person was moving across the irregular figures between the circles. This motion was halting as if the person many times stumbled and fell. The course of the charcoal had at last reached the edge of the square, and there it drew the reclining figure of a person. Lucille watched every movement intently. Do you see what he is telling us, she cried excitedly. It is the old native way of telling stories by drawings. He has said by the two circles that there are two islands, one large, one small. On the large one are many people, his people. On the small one a house, the house we are in. Between the two islands there is flowing ice. A figure is attempting to cross the ice, he is that one. He falls many times, but at last reaches the island and this house. Anne, said Marian, probably the people many of them live on this island. They were probably over there when the ice came. They did not dare to attempt to cross. When the flow is steady and solid, as it will be after this storm, then they will cross, and then—she paused. Yes, and then, said Lucille Hoskily. With the setting of the sun, the wind fell, the snow fog drifted away and the moon came out. Lucille crept out of the cabin and went in search of some new form of food. She found the spare ribs of a seal hanging over a pole in one of the caches. It seemed fairly fresh and when a piece was set simmering over the seal oil lamp, it gave forth an appetizing odor. The two girls stood by the window as the food cooked. They were looking out over the sea, which was now a solid mass of ice. I almost believe I can catch a faint outline of that other island, said Lucille. Yes, I think you can, said Marian. But what was that? She gripped her companion's arm. What! said Lucille. I thought, yes, there it is, out there to the right, some dark object moving among the ice-cakes. Yes, now I see it, and there's another, and another. Yes, perhaps twenty or more, what can they be? Men and dogs, said Marian slowly, the tribe is coming home. There was a little catch in her voice. Every muscle in her body was tense. They were far from their homes not knowing where they were, and these strange people a strange, perhaps wild tribe of savages. Then there came to Marian the words of the Great Bishop. Humanity is very much the same everywhere, and for a time the thought comforted her. They remained there standing in full view in the moonlight, watching until the men could be distinguished from the dogs, until the whole company, some fifty or more people, left the ice and began to climb the slope that led to the village. But now they all stopped. They were pointing at the cabin, some of them gesticulating wildly. After a time they came on again, but this time much more slowly. In their lead was a wild-haired man, who constantly went through the weird dance motions of these native tribes. Weird wild calisthenics they were, a thrusting out of both hands on this side, then that, a bowing, bending backward, leaping high in the air. And now they caught the sound of the witch-song they were all chanting. I, I, am, ah, ah, ah, I, I, I, ah, ah, ah, ah. As they neared the cabin Lucille turned away. I think, she said unsteadily, we had better bar the door. At that she lifted the heavy bar and propped it against the door. CHAPTER XVIII A NEW PARALLE Long hours in the cranny of the cliff, fire was wrapped in heavy slumber. Dressed as he was in deer skin and seal skin garments, he did not feel the cold. The bed was soft, his house well sheltered from the wind. He woke at last to start and stare. The sun was painting the peaks of distant ice piles, with a touch of pink and gold. He experienced a strange sensation. For one brief moment he fancied himself on the mainland of Alaska. This he realized was not entirely impossible. The ice flow might have circled about to carry him nearer to the coast again. So possessed was he with the idea that he grew impatient at the slow broiling of their one remaining bird. Once the meal was over, having hidden the bird net in the crevice that he might return to it in case of necessity, he hurried away. With rover at his heels he crossed the uneven surface of the plateau, keeping well toward the edge of the rocky cliff, that he might discover a path if there should be one leading down to a village or a miner's cabin. In his mind's eye he pictured himself sitting down to a meal of mulligan and sourdough flapjack and some friend's mining shack. And if this dream came true, how quickly he would shape his course toward the spot he had been directed to by the ciphered note in the blue envelope. I'd walk in on them like old Rip Van Winkle he smiled and glanced at his dog. You look the part of Rip's dog, old fellow he laughed, surely you do. Yet as he thought more soberly, he realized that there was no reason for supposing that the ice flow had returned him to the mainland of America. Might be a point of the mainland of Asia he reasoned, the people who come here hunting may be church keys. Had his mind been less occupied with these speculations he might have taken note of some movement off to the right of him. As it was he walked straight on. Suddenly a small dark object flew past his head. Before he could turn to investigate, a second, better aimed, struck him in the side. Caught off balance he went crashing to the ground. The next moment the dog gave a yelp of pain. He too had been struck by one of these flying missiles which proved to be rocks. Stunned but not seriously injured, fire rose upon hands and knees and made all haste to fortify himself behind a massive boulder. Growling defiance the old dog crouched by his side. It was a moment of suspense what could this mean? In the boy's mind there crowded many questions. Had he been carried to the shore of some island to the far north where the white man has never set foot? Was he about to be attacked by a murderous band of superstitious natives? He had seen no one. How many were there and why did they use only stones for weapons? The bow and arrow are known to the most ignorant savage. To these questions he could form no answer, he could only crouch there and wait. He did not have long to consider what his next move should be, for a rock grazed his ear. A quick glance in the direction from whence it came showed him the form of a single native. Instantly the man vanished, but a moment later a second rock flew through the air. It came from exactly the same spot. Maybe only one, he murmured. Encouraged by this thought he proceeded to stalk his enemy by hurrying around the boulder and peering out at him from the other end. The ruse worked. He found the man standing in full view, craning his neck to look around the side of the rock which the boy had just left. Presently the native took a few steps toward Phi, though he walked with a kind of stagger. It's strange he'd have the courage to attack me alone armed only with rocks, he murmured. A yelp from the old dog roused him to action, the native's rock had found a mark. His back was turned to the boy, and with a sudden swift rush Phi leaped out and landed full upon his back the two of them went crashing to the ground. For a moment the man struggled with almost demoniacal strength, then suddenly he crumpled in the boy's grasp and sank lifeless to the ground. Fearing a trick Phi turned the man over and sat upon his chest pinning his hands to the ground, but he was unconscious there was no mistaking that. It's queer, perplexedly, I didn't do anything to him that I know of, wasn't thrown hard or anything. He bent over to gather up a handful of snow which was to rub the native's brow when he caught an old familiar odor. Just then the dog came limping up. Rover old boy, Phi smiled a queer sort of smile, were not beyond the reaches of the civilized white man. This fellow's drunk, hooch, in other words moonshine, I smell it on his breath. That's why he was throwing stones at us. Crazy drunk, that's all. Now he's gone dead on us like a fliver run out of gas. The dog smelled of the man and growled. Don't like it, do you? Most honest men and dogs don't, moonshine's no good for anybody, and now, just for that, we're in something of a task. This fellow'd lie here until he froze stiff as a mastodon tusk if we let him. But we can't afford to let him, even if he did pelt us with rocks. We've got to get him on his feet somehow and make him walk the dog till he sweats some of that hooch out of him. As he looked the man over for a knife which might prove dangerous once he was aroused from his stupor, Phi realized that he was not on the mainland of America. This man's costume was quite unlike that of the diameters. He wore a jacket of Eiderduck skin such as was never seen on Little Diamied, and his outer garments of short-haired deerskin, instead of being composed of parka and trousers, were all of one piece. Wherever we are, he said to the dog, we'll know what's what in an hour or two. After witnessing the strange actions of the group of natives as they clustered in about the boarded-up house, with wildly beating hearts Lucille and Marion took their places back a little in the shadows, where they could not be seen but could still watch the wild antics of their strange visitors. What does it mean, whispered Marion? I can't even guess Lucille whispered back something terrible though, I am sure. By this time the entire group was circling the house, and their wild shrill, cadent song rose high and loud. Ki yee yee yum ah ah ah, ay ay ay. The single dancer tore his hair again and again, and repeated his mad gesticulations. Only one figure stood back impassive not singing and not taking any part in the weird demonstration. Suddenly at a sign from the wild-haired leader, all the singing ceased. He uttered a few words apparently of command, then waved his scrawny arms toward the house. A wild shout rent the air, all the natives saved the impassive one, sprang to their feet and started toward the village. But now the impassive one leaped up and tried to check them, to drive them back. As well attempt to stop a torrent with an open hand, they pushed him aside and hurried on. The next moment the girls heard a pounding at the door, but dared not open it. What does it mean? What can it mean? They kept asking one another. Presently the mad group came racing back. Some bore on their shoulders poles and boards hastily torn from their caches. Two others were staggering under a load, which appeared to be a seal-skin filled with some liquid. Seal oil, said Lucille. What? And then the full meaning of it came to her like a flash. Marion, she said in almost an inaudible whisper, they mean to burn the cabin, that's what the wood and seal oil are for, to start the fire. The words were hardly out of her mouth when Marion gripped her arm. Look, she cried, a dense black smoke was rolling past the window. Just by her cry the crippled Eskimo boys sprang up upon his one-well foot and came hopping toward them. One look at the smoke, at the madly dancing old man, and he hopped for the door. Throwing the pole to the floor, he hopped outside and away. He's gone, deserted us. What does it matter now, Lucille covered her face with her hands? But look, cried Marion. The boy had hopped out into the howling dancing circle. The howling had ceased. He had tumbled to a sitting position on the snow, but was speaking and motioning with his hands. Once he pointed at his bandaged foot, twice he put his hands to his mouth as if to mimic eating. Then he sprang nimbly upon his one foot and would have leaped toward the now raging fire, but the one who had been first impassive then had attempted to restrain the mad throng, restrained him, for the others leaping at the fire through it hithering yon, stamping out with their feet the blaze that had already begun eating its way into the building. It was all over in a minute. The two girls sank down upon the floor, dizzy and sick, wondering what it was all about. Five found that to rouse the native from his drunken stupor was no easy task. After rubbing the man's forehead with snow, he stood him on his feet and attempted to compel him to walk. Finding that impossible, he worked his arms back and forth, producing artificial respiration. At last his efforts were rewarded. The man opened his eyes and stared duly at him. For some time he lay there motionless. Then with a wild light of terror in his eyes, he struggled to his feet and attempted to flee. His wobbly legs would not support him. He tumbled to the earth only to try it again. Rover ran barking after him. Let him alone, smiled Phi, as long as he is not in danger of harming himself, let him work. He is doing as much as we could do for him. He'll work it out of his system. In spite of his muddled state, the fellow appeared to possess a sense of direction, after the boy soon found that he had come upon a narrow path, leading along the cliff at a safe distance from its edge. As he stumbled forward the natives' falls became less frequent. Sobering up was Phi's mental thought. We'll soon strike a place where the path leads down the side of the cliff. I wonder if he can make that alone or will he break his neck? Suddenly the man disappeared from view. That, said Phi to the dog, means there's a path leading directly down, probably to some village. If it is a village there are natives there, perhaps hundreds of them. They have seen white men at one time or another. They may have been badly treated by them and may be hostile to them. If one were to judge by the action of this fellow he must conclude that they are. But that cannot influence our action in any way. If we stay up here and live on birds they'll find us sooner or later. Might as well go down, the quicker the better, too, for this drunken fellow will doubtless give a weird and terrible account of us. At that he raced along the cliff-top path, and the next moment found himself slipping and sliding down a zig-zagging trail which led down the hillside. He was half-way down before he caught the first glimpse of the village. With him lay some brown cubes, which he knew to be box-like, upper stories of houses of the natives. That settles one thing, he murmured, their islanders. The natives of Russia build their homes on poles, deer-skin and walrus-skin, tipi-fashion. The American natives use logs and sod. Only islanders build them of rocks. For a moment his courage failed him. He was a boy on an island somewhere in the arctic, his only companion and old and harmless dog, his only weapon a hunting-knife, and he was about to enter a village filled with natives. Perhaps, he said slowly, looking down at the trusted eyes of the dog, we had better wait. They may all be on a grand spree, and if they are it won't be safe. Whatever they may be when they're sober they'll be dangerous enough when they're drunk. But the peaceful quiet of the village as it lay there some hundreds of feet below reassured him. Come on, old boy, he said at last, we'll chance it. There was little time left to the girls for wandering after the fire against the boarded up house had been extinguished, for the entire throng burst in upon them. This time, apparently as eager to welcome them, as they had been a few minutes before to destroy them, they rushed up to grasp their hands and mumble, mikanamak, ilikanamak. Then they all filed out again, two of them bearing the boy with the crushed foot. Only one remained. He was a young Eskimo with a clean cut, intelligent face. Lucille, by his posture, recognized the one who had championed their cause from the first. Perhaps you wonder much, he began. Perhaps you ask how is this? Sit down, I will say it to you. The very sound of their own tongue badly managed, though it might be, was music to the two worn-out and nerve-wrecked girls. They sat down on the sleeping-bag to listen, while the yellow light of the seal-oil lamp flickered across the dark, expressive face of the Eskimo. He bent over and drew imaginary circles on the floor, one small and one large, just as the boy had done with charcoal. Here he smiled, one island, here one, this island, one house, here. Where is this island, broke in Lucille, too eager to know their position on the shore of the Arctic, to hear him through? Yes, he smiled, this island is here, very small. This one is here, very large. Again the imaginary circles were drawn. Lucille smiled and was silent. This one large island, the native went on, this one plenty Eskimo. Come to visit some Eskimo. Some live here, these Eskimo. Pretty soon come big ice-flow, one across these people, can't. One across one boy, tri-cross, broke foot, you see. Come house, fell down, think die, that boy. Wanna come in, pretty soon open door, white women, you. See white women, scared that boy, too much scared, wanna run that boy, can't. Pretty soon see white woman, good, kind, that one boy. Plenty fix up foot, plenty eat that boy, wanna stay. Pretty soon come plenty wind, plenty ice. Wanna cross ice all time, those Eskimo, now can cross. Cross plenty Eskimo, plenty dog team. Come this island, one little island, see. Where is this island, Lucille, broken again? Yes, the speaker smiled frankly. One big island, one little island. Wanna cross people, all cross people. Again Lucille was silent. Pretty soon he resumed, see light in, along meets, white man's house. Wanna know who come island, look, see two white face and window, two white women. Then pretty much scared, one witch doctor, old man, hair, all so, he rubbed up his hair. Say that witch doctor, no come white women in this island, too much ice, no come. Spirits come, that's all. Say that one witch doctor, must kill white woman spirits, must burn house, wanna burn house quick. I say no burn, no spirits maybe, white women maybe. He say that witch doctor, he say no white woman, white spirit, that's all. All people say spirit, spirit, burn, burn, all wanna burn. Me I wanna stop burn, no can do. Wanna burn, bring wood, bring oil, all that Eskimo. Pretty soon fire, wanna come in mine, no can do. Buy and buy, come that one boy, rush out a cabin, wanna tell no burn house. No spirit, white women, that's all. No burn, he say that boy, no burn. See white women eat fish, spirits no eat fish. Then all the people say quick, no burn, no burn, see no burn, see, that's all. The Eskimo smiled frankly, as he mopped the perspiration from his brow. They wanted to burn us because they thought we were spirits, Lucille said slowly. Then suddenly, what do they call this island? This, this one island, the Eskimo pointed to the floor. Yes, the girls leaned forward eagerly. This one white man called Little Diamed. The two girls stared at one another for a moment, then they laughed. In the laughter there was both surprise and great joy. They were surprised that in all the drifting of their ice-flow they had been carried about in a circle, and at last landed only twenty-two miles across ocean from their home on Little Diamed Island, the halfway station between the mainland of America and Russia. We live at Cape Prince of Wales, said Lucille, how can we go home? The Eskimo merely shrugged his shoulder and smiled. Who's is this house? asked Marion. Government, said the Eskimo. Schoolhouse one time, not now, not many children, I teach them a little me, teach him in native house mine. So there the mystery was solved. They were in a schoolhouse built by the United States government, but which was not now being used. The natives always very superstitious, having seen their faces through the window, and not believing it possible that any white persons could come to the island at such a time had, at the suggestion of the old witch doctor, resolved to burn the house in the hopes of driving away the spirits. When the lame boy had limped into their mist, and had told how his wound had been dressed by these white women, and how he had seen them eat fish, which no spirit can do, according to the superstition of the Eskimo, they had been quite ready to put out the fire and welcome the strangers, all the more so since the girls had been kind to one in distress. Fie's experience in the village of the island upon which he had been cast was more happy than he could have dreamed of. It turned out that the native who had attacked him was the only drunken person on the island. That it was an island, the big diamede, he was immediately informed by a young native who had learned English on a whaler. So it turned out that the two parties, Lucille and Marion and Fie and Rover, had been carried about on the ice flow for three days, at last to be landed on twin islands. Fie's first thought was of the safety of his former traveling companions. When he learned that nothing had been seen of them on big diamede, without pause to rest he pushed on across the solidly frozen mass of ice which silenced the two miles of ocean which in summer sweeps between the two islands. It was night when he arrived, the night of the strange witch-doctor's seance. This had all come to an end. The schoolhouse was dark, the girls were asleep. From a prowling native he learned that the girls were there and safe and he turned in for a long sleep. Next day much to the surprise and delight of the girls, he walked in upon them as they were at breakfast. When the story of all their strange adventures had been told, Fie drew from his pocket a much soiled blue envelope. Fie first told how he had finally come into possession of the letter, then he went on. I, I guess I may as well tell you about it, it's really no great mystery, no great story of the discovery of gold, just the locating of a bit of whale bone. You see, my uncle came to the north with two thousand dollars, he stayed three years. Then the money was gone and he had found no gold, that happens often I'm told. Then one day he came upon the carcass of an immense bow-head whale, far north on the Alaskan shore. It had been washed ashore by a storm, no natives lived near. The bone of that whale was worth a small fortune. He cut it out and buried it in the sand dunes near the beach. So eager was he to make good at last that he actually lived on the grisly flesh of that whale until the work was done. Then he went south in search of a gasoline schooner to bring the treasure away. It was worth four or five thousand dollars. But he had made himself sick, he was brought home from Nome delirious. From his ravings his son, my cousin, gathered some notion of a treasure hit away in Alaska. The doctor said he would recover in time, his family was in need of the money. I offered to come up here and find out what I could. His son was to write me any information he could obtain. We had written to one another letters in Greek while in college. We decided to do it in this case, addressing one another as Phi Beta Chi. Apparently my uncle had said too much in his delirium before he left Nome. This crooked old minor, our bearded friend, heard of it and later somehow got on my trail. You know the rest except that this letter gives the location of the whale bone. In the spring I shall go after it. As he finished a great glad feeling of content swept over Marion. He had been right, had made no mistake, the letter was really Phi's. Now he had it and all was well. The following day they succeeded in finding a competent guide to pilot them the remaining distance across the Straits, and in due time they arrived safely at the cabin which had been their home. Lucille found a new teacher in her position, but for that she did not care as she had already decided to spend a month with Marion and Nome, then take the overland trail home. Marion's sketches were received with great enthusiasm by the Society of Ethnology. Because of her extra efforts in securing the unusual pictures of the reindeer chuchkies, they added a thousand dollars to the agreed price. Phi's search for the buried treasure was successful and to him was given the unselfish joy of seeing his uncle now completely restored to health, comfortably set up in a snug little business of his own. End of The Blue Envelope by Roy J. Snell.