Unlike Kapje, Mooloo did not use a canoe. His was a flat-bottomed boat, shaped more like a rowboat, but which he propelled by means of a paddle.
The boys noticed that he slipped several spears into the bottom of the boat and also an oilskin-covered package which they guessed contained provisions. Evidently the Eskimos took no chance of going without their meals.
They had not journeyed very far when the boys noticed that, as on the previous afternoon, the sky was clouding over. A few moments later a handful of snowflakes showered softly down upon them.
“This old country,” cried Fred, brushing the flakes off protestingly, “has got the habit of snowing, all right.”
“Maybe it’s only a flurry this time,” said Bobby hopefully. “Look! It’s stopping already.”
But alas for Bobby’s hopes. In half an hour’s time the boys saw that the snow was not stopping. As a matter of fact, it was coming down with a steady insistence that gave it all the appearance of a genuine long-continuing snow storm.
“Well, if that isn’t the limit,” said Billy disgustedly. “I guess the weather’s just been practicing a bit so far. Now it’s ready to give us a taste of the real thing.”
“What’s the matter, Mooloo?” asked Bobby, noticing that the Eskimo was grumbling to himself. “Anything wrong?”
“Maybe no, maybe yes,” replied the Eskimo, with a return to his surly manner. “We lost.”