“We think we see walrus,” he explained reluctantly. “We drop our guns—go look. When we turn back—see bear. Drop in snow—make believe dead. Fool bear—little while. Then you come. Lucky for fool Eskimo you come.”
With this last sentence the old fellow turned away as though the incident were definitely closed and followed his son down to the water where the latter was preparing to shove one of the canoes into the water.
“Well, we got our bear, all right,” said Fred ruefully, as he gingerly touched the dingy yellow coat of the beast with his foot. “I wonder what we’re going to do with it?”
When they put this question to Kapje he shrugged his shoulders.
“Leave him,” he said, laconically. “No take him along now. No time. More snow soon. Maybe we get bear by an’ by.”
At his words the boys noticed for the first time that the sun, shining but a few moments ago so brilliantly, was now behind heavy clouds that certainly seemed to presage more snow.
“Gee, it wouldn’t be much fun to be caught in another blizzard before we can reach Mooloo,” said Billy, looking anxiously at the threatening sky.
“I’ll say not,” said Fred, adding as he passed a hand over his face: “My face feels like a chunk of ice. I’d give a lot for the inside of an igloo just now and a good hot fire.”
“Choke him, somebody! Think of speaking of a good hot fire when the thermometer’s sixty below! Cruelty to animals, I call it,” complained Mouser, as, in answer to imperative gesturing on the part of Kapje, they reluctantly left the bear to its fate and climbed into the canoes.
“Glad you know what you are, anyway,” grinned Billy and Mouser’s fervent desire to “get at him” came near to upsetting the canoe.