“Anyway, we won’t starve,” the girl laughed. “Plenty of reindeer steak.”
“Yes,” said At-a-tak.
“We won’t go back,” Florence decided suddenly.
“No,” agreed the Eskimo girl.
“We’ll go on north,” said Florence. “We’ll take the deer with us. We’ve just got to!”
“Yes,” said At-a-tak.
It was the day after the storm. All was white and quiet now. Florence and the Eskimo girl had gone in search of a clue that would give them a reason for the presence of this valuable herd of reindeer in such a place. Apparently they had found the answer. Here and there were snow-blown tracks of dogs, sleds and natives. These led away from the narrow valley. Without question, these natives, overcome by a desire to live easily off that which belonged to another, had driven these deer into the hills. At sight of white men they had fled. Would they return? Florence shuddered. “Have to be on the watch,” she told herself. To At-a-tak she said:
“Come! Let’s go back to camp.”
When their report had been made, Tom Kennedy agreed that they should take the deer with them. “We’ll camp here until tomorrow morning, give the deer a chance to feed, then we’ll press on up the fork to the mine.
“The mine,” his voice rose, “it’s still there. Bound to be! Joe and me, we hid it, hid it good and plenty.”