“Where you go?”
“Eskimo-land.”
“Eskimo bad.” The Indian’s voice dropped, his dark face formed itself into a scowl. “Very bad, Eskimo. Long time ’go kill Indians—much Indians.”
“Yes, a long time ago,” Speed agreed quietly. “Then came good white men. They told the Eskimo no kill. Now all the Eskimos are good. Tomorrow night is Christmas Eve. We are bringing them presents, these good Eskimos. We are in trouble. You must help us.”
“Oh! Christmas?” The Indian’s face lighted.
“We have twenty pounds of candy for your children,” Mary encouraged.
“Oh, candy?” The Indian’s face grew radiant. “Indian like candy, like much. I bring help, bring everyone. Come quick!” He trotted away.
Scarcely had they returned to the plane than the edge of the forest swarmed with Indians, little Indians, big Indians, men, women, and children, and all eager to help.
It was no time at all until that airplane ski was back on the top surface of the ice. Then, after presenting the gifts of candy and receiving a friendly farewell, the little party began taxiing down the river two miles to a spot where there was a supply of gasoline, and where they might pile into their cabin for a few winks of sleep.
Supper over, they tucked their blankets about them.