“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.