The Chukch seemed satisfied. It was agreed that we should leave our sledge and about all our possessions and that we should journey onward on the deer man’s sledge. At Koliuchin Bay we should find an American trader, Mr. Olsen, about whom I had been hearing all along the coast. As far as Mr. Olsen’s the other deer man was to accompany us with his sledge, Kataktovick riding with him; for this service he was to receive a hatchet, a piece of tent canvas and two tins of pemmican.
The next morning, April 19, Kataktovick complained of pains in his legs and wanted to stay where we were for a day to rest. I did not object to the idea and was glad of an opportunity of resting the dogs.
That night our prospective tourist conductor began talking again about the money. Evidently he was worried, or else his conscience pricked him.
“By and by you meet Olsen,” he said. “He white man. Perhaps he tell you you pay me too much money. You no pay me.”
I replied that whatever Mr. Olsen might tell me would make no difference, that I had promised to pay and I would. I refused to let him see the money, however, though he was itching to get a look at it. “You no trust me, I no trust you,” I said.
Then he voiced the age-old cry of the savage against the civilized; the pity of it is that the savage is right.
“White man steal from other man,” he said. “White man promise bring things for fox skins and bear skins. White man no bring ’em. White man go ’way, forget come back.”
I could not deny it, but I repeated my statement that I would pay him forty dollars if he brought me to East Cape.
There was silence for a while; then he said he would do it.