“Boy, are you dumb!” Sandy said. “On the west side only a thin strip of water separates Alaska from Russia. The Bering Strait is only about forty miles wide.”
Parker nodded. “In the winter you can cross it on a sled.”
That thought seemed to sober Jerry.
Parker touched the Norseman down gently on its skis and reversed the propeller to brake their slide. As they climbed out of the plane, the figure of a man emerged out of the glare of the landing lights. Clad in fur trousers, fur hood and fur parka, he looked like an Eskimo. But as he approached, Sandy could make out a small clipped mustache and rimless eyeglasses.
“Welcome to Kodiak,” he greeted them. “You must be Dr. Steele’s son.” He held out his hand.
“Yes, sir.” Sandy smiled. “I’m Sandy.”
“I’m Kenneth Stern.”
Sandy performed introductions all around. It turned out that Parker and the young university teacher were friends. “My wife took some courses with Professor Stern,” the pilot explained.
Stern clapped his fur mittens together. “I have my jeep parked over at the edge of the field. Let’s get back to the lodge. Dora—that’s my wife—has a big bear roast in the oven. I imagine you fellows are pretty hungry.”
“You go ahead,” Parker said. “I want to make sure they put my baby safely to bed. I’ll hitch a ride to your camp.”