“Those snow houses must be igloos,” said Dick, pointing. “How queer they are—just the shape of bee-hives, with the little round holes at the bottom, too.”
“I wonder where the people are,” Sandy spoke up, “and what is that queer smell that seems to come from the igloos?”
Dick could not answer the question. Corporal McCarthy laughed. “You’ll smell worse smells than that before we get away from these Eskimos,” said the officer. “But what you smell just now is probably fresh walrus meat, or seal blubber. The natives have been hunting all day, I suppose, and are almost all asleep now inside their houses.”
A moment after Constable Sloan had stopped before one of the igloos, a figure crawled out of the tiny entrance. There seemed no sign whatever of hostility in the greetings exchanged by the policeman and the native.
“That fellow doesn’t seem to have the spear-throwing habit,” observed Sandy.
“No, as a rule the Eskimos are a peaceful people,” said Corporal McCarthy.
Constable Sloan, at this moment, turned and signalled them to come on, and when they reached the igloos, several other Eskimos had come out of their houses to satisfy their native curiosity. There were women and children among them.
“Why, the older men and women look almost alike!” exclaimed Sandy.
“I’ve heard there’s little difference in the appearance of Eskimo men and women,” Dick replied, “but they say you can tell by the sizes of their hoods—the women have extra big ones so they can carry their babies in them during mild weather.”
“Well, boys,” Constable Sloan turned to Dick and Sandy, “I guess we can camp here for the night anyway. Sipsa, the man I’ve been talking to, gives us a hearty welcome, especially after I told him we had some shiny, new knives and hatchets in our packs.”