He leaned far down over the side and saw distinctly by the fire-light there was nobody but Kaviak in the under bunk.
The Colonel was on his legs in a flash, putting his head through his parki and drawing on his mucklucks. He didn't wait to cross and tie the thongs. A presentiment of evil was strong upon him. Outside in the faint star-light he thought a dim shape was passing down towards the river.
"Who's that? Hi, there! Stop, or I'll shoot!" He hadn't brought his gun, but the ruse worked.
"Don't shoot!" came back the voice of the Boy.
The Colonel stumbled down the bank in the snow, and soon stood by the shape. The Boy was dressed for a journey. His Arctic cap was drawn down over his ears and neck. The wolf-skin fringe of his parki hood stood out fiercely round the defiant young face. Wound about one of his seal-skin mittens was the rope of the new hand-sled he'd been fashioning so busily of nights by the camp fire. His two blankets were strapped on the sled, Indian fashion, along with a gunny sack and his rifle.
The two men stood looking angrily at each other a moment, and then the Colonel politely inquired:
"What in hell are you doing?"
"Goin' to Minóok."
"The devil you are!"
"Yes, the devil I am!"