“Yes,” he nodded. “Three columns smoke.”
“Whites or Indians?”
“Who knows?” said Mary. “And who cares? We must find them. They must help us.” She was ready for the trail.
And indeed there was need for haste, the airplane was freezing in. So, forgetting their hunger and their need for rest, they hurried away in the direction of the three columns of smoke.
Soon they came upon a trail leading into the forest. In silence they followed that trail. How still it was there in the forest! As a snow-bunting flew from twig to twig, Mary caught the flutter of his tiny wings. A snowshoe rabbit, leaping from the trail, brought an unuttered cry to her lips. Then of a sudden a deep voice shattered that silence. It said:
“How!”
Seeming to appear from nowhere, a six-foot Indian stood before them. He was not dressed in skins and feathers, but his dark face, straight black hair, and large hawk-like nose told the story.
“How!” said Speed.
“Airplane come?” the Indian said.
“Yes, and we are in trouble. You must help us.”