“Yes, they did,” Dr. Steele said emphatically. Speaking directly to Sandy and Jerry, he explained. “You see, the Canadians don’t want visitors to shoot up their game preserves, and quite rightly so. When we cross the border into Alaska, the officials will remove the seals from the barrels. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Sandy mumbled, looking quickly away into the embers. He was stunned. Those automatics weren’t plugged up. He had never heard his father deliberately tell a lie before.
Unaware of the tension that had mushroomed up, MacKensie stretched. “I’d better be getting back to the radio shack and see what’s come in from the weather stations on this storm. If she looks bad, I’ll have to keep a crew on alert. Any time you gentlemen feel like sacking in, go to it. Your cabin should be warm now. It’s small, but cozy. There are six bunk beds, so it won’t be too crowded.”
“Where’s Charley?” Sandy asked, suddenly aware that the Indian was not in the room.
“Right after supper he went outside to get your dogs bedded down,” one of the crewmen told him.
Professor Crowell smiled. “He treats them like children, and they love it. Actually, though, all those huskies need for a bed is a soft snowdrift.”
“They like to sleep in snow?” Jerry asked incredulously. “Don’t they freeze?”
“No, once they tuck in their paws and stick their noses under their tails, they’re ready for anything. Have you noticed their coats? Double thick. Underneath that heavy outside fur there’s a short woolly undercoat. The fact is they’re probably more comfortable sleeping outside than next to a roaring fire.”
Lou Mayer held his hands up to the flames. “We have nothing in common.”
After MacKensie left, the other maintenance men began to drift off to bed. The snow was coming down very hard, and they faced the prospect of a long, hard day battling the drifts.