Steve was lying in his blankets propped into a half-sitting position. A candle, stuck in the neck of a bottle, lit the tent sufficiently for Ian Ross to complete his work.
"Why, the evil spirits of Unaga, I guess," he replied, with a forced lightness. Then he shook his head. "They did their best—sure. Another week or so and you'd have moved about on stumps the rest of your life. And I'm reckoning that would have been the best you could have hoped. It's been a darned near thing."
Steve nodded. His manner was curiously indifferent.
"How's the boy?" he demanded abruptly.
Ross put his instruments away and set the water bowl aside. Then he set the stoppered bottles back into his case.
"He'll be 'whooping' it up with the boys in a couple of days," he said.
"An-ina?"
"Beating the 'reaper' out of sight."
Steve drew a deep breath.
"Oolak was all to pieces," he said doubtfully.