At last Maudie took her outside and told her.
Muckluck gaped, sat down a minute, and rocked her body back and forth with hidden face, got up and called sharply: "Skookum!"
They took the trail for town. Potts said, when he passed them, they were going as if the devil were at their heels—wouldn't even stop to say how the Colonel was. So Potts had come to see for himself—and to bring the Colonel some letters just arrived.
Mac was close behind ... but the Boy? No-no. They wouldn't let anybody see him; and Potts shook his head.
"Well, you can come in," said Maudie, "if you keep your head shut about the Boy."
The Colonel was lying flat, with that unfaltering ceiling-gaze of the sick. Now his vision dropped to the level of faces at the door. "Hello!" But as they advanced he looked behind them anxiously. Only Mac—no, Kaviak at his heels! and the sick man's disappointment lightened to a smile. He would have held out a hand, but Maudie stopped him. She took the little fellow's fingers and laid them on the Colonel's.
"Now sit down and be quiet," she said nervously.
Potts and Mac obeyed, but Kaviak had fastened his fine little hand on the weak one, and anchored so, stared about taking his bearings.
"How did you get to the Klondyke, Kaviak?" said the Colonel in a thin, breathy voice.
"Came up with Sister Winifred," Farva answered for him. "She was sent for to help with the epidemic. Dyin' like flies in Dawson—h'm—ahem!" (Apologetic glance at Maudie.) "Sister Winifred promised to keep Kaviak with her. Woman of her word."