“Now we are getting down to business, you understand,” said Ike with satisfaction. “Your nephew no good to you now?” The old man shook his palsied head. “Him dead plenty soon,” he said stolidly.
“You no want nephew then?” Ike persisted, and the old man shook his head decidedly.
“Then I buy him,” Ike said promptly. “For him I give two plugs of tobacco, of red cloth 20 yards, and of big tallow candles three. Does the uncle accept?” The uncle did with eagerness. It was more than the boy was worth when well. He was little and it would be many seasons before he could become a skillful hunter. Clearly these pale faces, not yet the size of men, were crazy, crazy as wolf-dogs when the moon is full. A fear seized him that this crazy young pale-face, who waved his hands so wildly when he talked, might repent of his bargain and demand all this wealth back. He was starting for his igloo as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, when Ike sternly commanded him to stop. “Take me to where you put the boy,” he said, “and explain to him that hereafter I am his father, mother and uncle, and when I speak he is to obey.”
They found the little fellow in the middle of a bunch of willows, a handful of dirty moss stuck in his mouth. He was lying perfectly quiet looking up at the skies with his black, beady eyes. He was only a child, but he knew the laws and custom of his people, many had he seen during the great cold, dragged out to die alone in the deep snow.
Alex pulled out the gag of dirty moss and threw it away, while the old man in quavering tones, told him what Ike had directed him to say.
The child looked up at Ike with grateful eyes. “All right, fadder, me do what you say.”
Ike strove to hide his pity for the sick, deserted little fellow. He bent down and put his arms around the shrunken shoulders. “Put your arms around my neck and hang on as tight as you can,” he commanded sternly. “Here, Alex, grab him around the legs and we will have him down to the boat in no time, you understand.”
Clay was still fishing contentedly, a number of large salmon flapping helplessly on the deck around him.
“For goodness sakes, what have you there?” he cried as he spied the limp burden.
“This is my son,” said Ike, solemnly. “He is sick, very sick. Come help us with him, Clay.”