“Oh, I not tell,” returned the old woman; “I love not Ujarak.”
“Ah! just so; then you’re pretty safe not to tell,” said Rooney.
“No fear of Kannoa,” remarked Angut, with a pleasant nod; “she never tells anything to anybody.”
Satisfied, apparently, with this assurance, the seaman took the old woman into his counsels, congratulating himself not a little on having found an ally in the very hut in which it had been arranged that the mysterious performance was to take place. Shortly after that Angut left.
“Now, Kannoa,” said Rooney, after some preliminary talk, “you remember the big white bear that Angut killed two moons ago?”
“Remember it? Ay,” said Kannoa, licking her lips; “it was the fattest and best bear I ever chewed. Huk! it was good!”
“Well, where is that bear’s skin?”
The old dame pointed to a corner of the hut where the skin lay. Rooney went and picked it up, and laid it at the upper end of the hut farthest from the door.
“Now, mother,” said he; “you’ll not touch that skin. Let it lie there, and let no one touch it till I come again. You understand?”
“Yes,” answered Kannoa, with a look so intensely knowing that it made the seaman laugh.