“Well, Broom-handle, then,” retorted Sahanderry sharply.
The sailor half rose from his chair in a gust of passion as if he would make for Sahanderry, but evidently changed his mind, for he dropped slowly back to his seat. At a wave of the hand from the trader, Sahanderry retired in a sulky mood to the kitchen.
After a time Broom forced a smile to his face.
“Not bad for an Indian!” he admitted with dubious praise, and with an attempt at a laugh.
“No,” returned Roy shortly. Then he spoke of the destructive habits of the wolverine.
At this juncture there was a slight shuffling noise in the kitchen, accompanied by a sound of heavy breathing. The noise drew nearer, and presently with a long “Phew!” an Eskimo ushered himself into the room. He paused for a moment as if to make sure of his welcome, then at a nod from the A-hoo-mit-uk (master) he squatted down where he stood. It was Ocpic the Murderer, a sobriquet he had earned, it was said by killing seven other Eskimos.
Seating himself on his haunches in the doorway, he divested himself of his tko-ti-tok (coat) by pulling it over his head, and sat in his at-ti-yi (shirt), smiling blandly, his little black, oblique eyes alertly watching.
While the two white men were engaged in conversation, the Eskimo’s eyes wandered about the room and eventually fixed themselves on a large key which hung on a nail at the head of one of the bunks.
The little black eyes flashed and twinkled, for their owner was aware that this key opened the trading store—that little paradise which contained everything dear to the Eskimo heart. Ocpic knew where a new net hung, a fine new salmon net, made and just ready to drop in the water; and he would be badly in need of a net in the spring. There was nothing to prevent his obtaining the net, nothing but that key. He gave it a long earnest look, then suddenly dropped his gaze and a crafty expression came on his face.
Neither Roy nor Broom noticed Ocpic’s prolonged gaze at the key, nor observed the stealthy gleam which came to Ocpic’s eye. They were speaking of the manners and mode of life of these strange, littoral people, who inhabit nearly five thousand miles of seaboard from East Greenland to the Peninsula of Alaska, and who throughout all that vast range speak essentially the same language.