CHAPTER XIV
THE ESCAPE FROM THE WHITE INDIANS
The man, O'Brien, despite the fact that he spent half his time mooning and muttering to himself about quarts of gold and the delights of a torrid clime, proved himself no mean strategist, and his intimate knowledge of the lay of the land and the habits and language of the natives, was invaluable in formulating the plan of escape.
Far into the night the three lay, Connie and Waseche Bill in their sleeping bags under the little shelter tent pitched close against the rounded side of the igloo, and O'Brien lying inside the igloo upon his vile-smelling bed of skins with his face to the hole he had bored low in the snow wall.
Their only hope in getting out of the Lillimuit lay in saving the dogs, and it was decided that this could be accomplished only by a quick dash for the Ignatook, which joined the larger river a quarter of a mile to the northward.
On the sleds remained about five hundred pounds of caribou venison, besides a small quantity of tea, coffee, bacon, and flour.
"Ut's loike this," concluded O'Brien, when the situation had been carefully reviewed from every slant and angle, "Oi'll go to owld Metlutak, tomorry, an' Oi'll say: 'Chayfe,' Oi'll say, 'thim dogs is a plinty soight ribbier thin phwat Oi thought they wuz. We can't git no fat onto um insoide av a wake or tin days but we kin hav' th' potlatch jist th' same—ondly we'll hav' two potlatchs instead av th' wan. They is foive hunder' pounds av caribou mate on th' sleds an' we'll hav' th' caribou potlatch fur-rust, an' th' dog potlatch lather, phwin they've bin give a chanst to lay on some fat.'
"Th' owld b'y won't loike th' caribou so much as th' dog but Oi'll pint out to um that av we use th' caribou fur-rust th' dogs can't shlip along in th' noight an' ate it up on us, whoilst av we kill th' dogs an' lave th' caribou, ye can't tell phwat w'd happin."
"But the dogs couldn't eat the meat if they were dead!" objected Connie.