“That is business also,” Ike remarked. “But I think the same as you, Clay. We get a good trade. When we come back let’s give them poor people plenty of good things to eat, so that they will not suffer from hunger this winter. Say we give five hundred dollars’ worth of rice, sugar, beans and flour. You see, we still have made a good trade for the team, the Shaman makes plenty of money off his coffin trimmings, and the box, and the poor people are contented because the hunger does not gnaw at their bellies.”
“I am too sleepy to point it out,” yawned Clay, “but there’s a flaw some where in your reasoning. We beat a man out of his dogs for a few worthless trinkets. We gain, don’t we?” The man who owns the dogs gains, the people gain also. Nobody loses. Looks to me like high finance.”
“High finance,” snorted Ike, indignantly. “Who ever heard of high finance giving back food to the people—a library or an institute, perhaps, but food, no. We might give them $500.00 worth of books,” he added thoughtfully, “on condition, you understand, that they raise another $500.00. The Shaman could be the librarian.”
“You idiot,” grinned Clay, as he crawled into his bunk. “What do the Esquimaux want with books? They are too hungry, weary, and hopeless for books.”
“Maybe,” admitted Ike, as he climbed into his own bunk, “but say, it would make us one splendid advertisement.”
When they crowded up on deck after a hearty breakfast next morning, there curled up on the bank was Buck, surrounded by his family. At sight of Alex, he barked joyously, and the boy went ashore to bid the noble animal farewell. “Good-bye, Buck,” he whispered. “We will come back for you soon. Be patient, for it will only be a short time. Very soon we come and get you.”
Buck wagged his tail mournfully at thought of the delay, but beamed with joy over Alex’s parting head patting.
As they backed out of the cove, Alex glanced back. Buck was leading his family back to the settlement, but the big leader’s tail drooped mournfully and every few paces he would stop and gaze back at the retreating boat.
The boys found that the steamer was some five miles ahead of them, but under full speed it took but a short time to range alongside the clumsy craft. The Kid, without waiting for an invitation, came sliding aboard. “Well, how did you like the village?” was his first query.
“All right, except for the people, the huts and the smells,” Clay grinned and he proceeded to relate the story of their experiences.