“Well, Oulybuck,” he cried, shaking hands with a young Eskimo. “Where’s Piglinick? Isn’t he here?”
“No. He’s dead,” returned the native.
“Dead!” echoed Roy, with a look of profound astonishment.
“Yes,” continued the native, dryly, “we hung him last moon.”
“Hung him last moon!” repeated the horrified trader, staring blankly at the broad-smiling Eskimo for a few seconds, then bursting into a roar of laughter.
“Beats cock-fighting,” observed Broom, sententiously.
“Yes,” said Roy, recovering himself somewhat. Then turning to Oulybuck, “Why did you hang him?” he asked.
But Oulybuck ignored the question. “Hung Kinnicky, too,” he said, smiling as if proud of this double achievement.
“Goodness me; why, he’s hung his father also!” cried the astonished Roy. His face now changed its expression to one of consternation.
“A regular Jack Ketch,” asserted Broom.