“It is very wonderful,” said the chief, “that men are now able to go floating through the skies. But tell me, my brother, have not certain of the braver ones already journeyed to the stars?”
“No,” answered Dick. “Thus far no boat has ever been built which would be strong enough to undertake such a voyage. Perhaps that will come in time.”
An interval of silence ensued, broken at length by the appearance of an Indian squaw, who brought food and drink and placed it before the young man. Then, while Dick ate, he talked. He told them of the smallpox epidemic north of the Mackenzie, of his adventures in going to Peace River Crossing at the request of Inspector Cameron of the mounted police, and subsequently of his ill-fated ride from Fort Vermilion.
“Those ships of the air,” he concluded, “are carrying medicine to the sick.”
The two Indians appeared to be very much interested, offering their services in any way that would be useful in such a cause. The chief said:
“We will give you ponies so that you may proceed on your journey.”
Dick thanked them. “That is very kind of you.”
He looked up with beaming eyes, then abruptly his face darkened as a thought occurred to him.
“I must take the body of my friend with me,” he trembled. “I must start today. The great white father of the police will be pleased to hear of your kindness. Perhaps some of your people will be so good as to accompany me on my journey.”
The chief advanced and laid a hand benevolently on the young man’s head. Something closely akin to a smile lighted the wrinkled, weatherbeaten face.