“It is of no use trying it again,” said Angut, in a frame of mind amounting almost to despair.
“Could we not send Kannoa back with the sledge, and you and I make sail after them on foot?” asked Rooney.
Angut shook his head despondingly.
“Of no use,” he said; “they have the best dogs in our village. As well might a rabbit pursue a deer. No; there is but one course. The land-ice is impassable, but the floes out on the sea seem still to be fast. If they break up while we are on them we shall be lost. Will Ridroonee agree to take old Kannoa back to her friends, and I will go forward with the sledge alone?”
“What say you, Kannoa?” asked Rooney, turning to the old woman with a half-humorous look.
“Kannoa says she will live or die with Angut and Ridroonee,” she replied firmly.
“You’re a trump!” exclaimed the seaman in English. Then, turning to the Eskimo—
“You see, Angut, it’s impossible to get rid of us, so up anchor, my boy, and off we go seaward. The truth is, I ought to feel more in my element when we get out to sea.”
Seeing that they were resolved, Angut made no further objection, but, directing the dogs’ heads away from the land, flourished his long whip over them, and set off at as break-neck a pace as before over the seaward ice-floes.