But it was a weary, half-frozen company that camped late that night without sighting the mysterious person they pursued. Dick and Sandy were almost too tired to be hungry once they had thrown up their tupik, or Eskimo tent made of sealskins. Not until they had drunk several cups of hot tea, an indispensable drink in the far north, did they feel anywhere near themselves, and could discuss the doings of the day while munching hard biscuit and pemmican.
“I wonder where this trail will end?” Sandy ventured dubiously.
“Wish I knew,” rejoined Dick, “but I think the ‘white Eskimo’ will lead us on a real old wild goose chase. He knows more about this country than any of us, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew the lay of the land better than any of these Eskimo guides. Anyway the Eskimos can’t be of much use in tracking that fellow because they believe the ‘white Eskimo’ is an Angekok, or devil. They’re so superstitious that if we once got very close to the fellow we’re chasing, they’d probably lead us astray or run off and leave us alone.”
“I guess they believe in ghosts alright,” agreed Sandy, pouring another cup of tea.
Dick was about to continue the discussion, when he chanced to look through the opening of their tupik.
“Look at that!” he grasped Sandy’s arm tensely.
What Dick saw was their three Eskimo hands gathered before their tupik in a private council of some secret purpose. The native drivers were gesturing excitedly with their hands and heads, evidently arguing with Sipsa, the guide.
“The drivers seem to be ready to quit right now, the way they act,” observed Sandy.
“Well, we can’t go far without them, at least, without a guide. I ought to tell Corporal McCarthy about this.”
However, no more were the words out of Dick’s mouth than the police Corporal approached the three Eskimos and scattered them to various tasks.