Abruptly, the boys turned toward each other. Toma muttered something under his breath; Dick relaxed to a sitting position, whistling his astonishment.
“I didn’t expect anything like this,” remarked Dick, recovering somewhat from his surprise. “An Indian village! Look, Toma, there are scores of tepees down there. No wonder he came this way.”
Again they started—but not at the sight of those tepees, strung along the floor of the valley, nor yet at the sight of the Indians themselves, here and there plainly distinguishable—but at the appearance of a loaded sledge behind a team of gray malemutes, proceeding quickly toward the village.
“He isn’t very far ahead of us,” exulted Dick. “He’ll soon be cornered. He can’t get away. We’ve won, Toma.”
Toma’s eyes were shining.
“Him big fool to come here. What you think?”
“He may have friends. Perhaps they’ll want to shield him.”
The young Indian’s answer was to crack his whip and to shout to the huskies. The sledge leaped forward. It threw up a quantity of loose snow, through which it plowed. It rocked perilously as it negotiated the top of the valley slope, then, in spite of Dick’s foot pressed hard on the brake-board, shot down, almost running over the dogs.
Taking a steeper but more direct route to the village than had been attempted by the thief, they were only a few yards behind him when they made their final whirlwind spurt through the orderly row of tepees and the gaping crowds, and came to a jarring but dramatic halt.
The thief was unaware of his danger, had not even a premonition of the near presence of his pursuers, until, with a certain amusing dignity, he slipped from the top of his precious load and waved an exaggerated greeting to the crowd.