Sure enough! With amazing suddenness the circles broke up and the dancers made a concerted rush for the caribou meat. Connie slipped unnoticed into the shadows and ran for the sleds, while Waseche Bill swung his ax and O'Brien distributed the chunks to the crowding Indians.
As soon as one received his portion he placed it upon the snow and drove his harpoon in past the barbs to prevent its being jerked off in the wild scramble for a place at the fire. As O'Brien had said, the orgy that started as a religious ceremony was winding up like a Donnybrook fair, for the natives fought and pummelled each other with spear and fist in their efforts to thaw out their meat.
At the end of half an hour all were served and not a shred remained that was not firmly transfixed upon the point of a harpoon. Most of the Indians still fought by the fire, but some of the more fortunate had retreated to a distance and were gnawing and tearing at the raw chunks, using the harpoons in the manner of a huge fork.
"Now's our chanst!" whispered O'Brien; and with an eye upon those who were eating, they dodged swiftly behind the chief's igloo.
When Connie reached the shelter tent he fell immediately to work harnessing the dogs which he roused from their snug beds in a huge snowdrift. At first his fingers trembled with excitement so that he fumbled clumsily at the straps, but he soon regained his nerve and, one after another, the malamutes were fastened into their proper places. He slipped the collar on to McDougall's gaunt leader and waited, tense with anxiety, listening and peering into the darkness for sound or sight of his two companions.
After what seemed hours of suspense, he saw them approaching at a run, and sprang to his place, his fingers gripping tightly the handle of his dog whip.
At the same instant, the boy became aware that the scene at the fireside had changed. In the uncertain light of the flaring flames he had been able to make out an indistinct blur of fighting figures accompanied by a jumble of growls and short, animal-like yelps, as the natives pushed and pummelled each other for a place by the coveted fire. As the figures of Waseche and O'Brien drew closer, the yelps and growls gave place to loud cries, the fighting ceased, and in the dim light Connie made out other running figures, and still others standing upon their chunks of meat and wrenching frantically to free their harpoons.
The next instant Waseche Bill leaped to his dogs and O'Brien threw himself upon Connie's waiting sled.
"Let 'em go, kid!" cried Waseche, and the sharp crack of the dog whips rang on the air to the cries of: "Mush! Hi! Hi! Mush-u! Mush-u!"