“You shall know that in time,” was the stern reply.
Nunaga was too much frightened to speak, but little Tumbler was not.
“Bad—bad man!” he exclaimed, with a fierce look that caused the wizard for a moment to smile grimly.
Little Pussi was so horrified at the reckless presumption of the remark, that she hid her face in Nunaga’s lap and did not venture to look up for some time.
Getting on the sledge without another word, the wizard gave a hint to the dogs which was so unmistakable that they sprang up and resumed their journey at full gallop. Slowly the sun went down, and sea and berg and snow-clad cliff grew grey in the light of departing day. Still the panting team sped on over the frozen sea. Soon it became too dark to travel with safety. The pace was slackened. The run became a canter, then a trot, and then a walk. At last the driver stopped, jumped off the sledge, and ordered the women to get out the seal and feed the dogs. He also gave them permission to help themselves, but as there was no lamp or fire, it was evident that he meant them to eat their supper raw.
Leaving them while thus engaged, he walked away out of sight.
“I won’t have raw seal,” said Tumbler, in that tone of petulant resolve which tells of spoilt-childism.
“An’ me won’t too,” said Pussi, profiting by example.
“But there’s nothing else,” said Nunaga, gently.
“Yes, there is. I have got some cold seal in my boots—from this morning’s breakfast,” said Kabelaw, extracting a goodly-sized morsel; “I never go on a journey, however short, without a bit of cooked meat.”