"Potts is a cur."
"Yes, sah." Then, after an instant's reflection: "But he's a cur that can risk his life to save a kid he don't care a damn for."
They went back to Mac, and found him pretty well worn out. The Colonel took his place, but was soon pushed away. Mac understood better, he said; had once brought a chap round that everybody said was ... dead. He wasn't dead. The great thing was not to give in.
A few minutes after, Kaviak's eyelids fluttered, and came down over the upturned eyeballs. Mac, with a cry that brought a lump to the Colonel's throat, gathered the child up in his arms and ran with him up the hill to the cabin.
Three hours later, when they were all sitting round the fire, Kaviak dosed, and warm, and asleep in the lower bunk, the door opened, and in walked a white man followed by an Indian.
"I'm George Benham." They had all heard of the Anvik trader, a man of some wealth and influence, and they made him welcome.
The Indian was his guide, he said, and he had a team outside of seven dogs. He was going to the steamship Oklahoma on some business, and promised Father Wills of Holy Cross that he'd stop on the way, and deliver a letter to Mr. MacCann.
"Stop on the way! I should think so."
"We were goin' to have supper to-night, anyhow, and you'll stay and sleep here."