Hurrying through the village in order to carry out his plans, the boy encountered Mrs Mangivik at the entrance to her hut.
“Where are you going, Doocheek?” demanded the woman, with a look of suspicion born of frequent experience.
With that spirit of ambiguous contradiction which would seem to prevail among the youth of all nations, Doocheek replied, “Nowhere.”
It is interesting to observe how that remarkable answer seems to satisfy inquirers, in nine cases out of ten, everywhere! At all events Mrs Mangivik smiled as if she were satisfied, and re-entered her hut, where Nootka was engaged in conversation with Adolay, while she taught her how to make Eskimo boots.
“Did not Cheenbuk forbid every one to go near the big kayak while the men were away?” demanded the woman.
“Yes he did,” answered Nootka, without raising her eyes.—“Now look here, Ad-dolay. You turn the toe up this way, and the heel down that way, and shove your needle in so, and then—”
“I am very sure,” interrupted Mrs Mangivik, “that little Doocheek has gone down there. There’s not another little boy in the tribe but himself would dare to do it.”
“He will lose some of his skin if he does,” said Nootka quietly—referring not to any habit of the Eskimos to flay bad boys alive, but to their tendency to punish the refractory in a way that was apt to ruffle the cuticle.
Quite indifferent to all such prospects in store for him, the boy hurried on until he reached the foot of the snow staircase. It had been repaired by that time, and the deck was easily gained. Descending to a part of the interior which was rather dark—for the boy was aware that his deeds were evil—he sat down on a locker and opened his fire-bag.
Eskimos are not quite free from superstition. Doocheek had plenty of natural courage, but he was apt to quail before the supernatural. Apart from the conscience, which even in Arctic bosoms tends to produce cowardice, the strange surroundings of the place—the deep shadows, merging into absolute obscurity, and the feeling of mystery that attached to everything connected with the vessel—all had the effect of rendering Doocheek’s enjoyment somewhat mixed. To look at him as he sat there, glaring nervously on all sides, one would have been tempted to say that his was what might be called a fearful joy. If a rat or a mouse had scurried past him at that moment he would have fled precipitately, but no rat or mouse moved. Probably they were all frozen, and he had the place entirely to himself—too much to himself. He began at that point to wish that he had brought another little boy, or even a girl, with him, to keep up his courage and share in his triumphant wickedness.