Just then four men appeared at the foot of the ridge. “One white man, three natives,” was Tom Kennedy’s instant announcement.
“That white man,” Florence was startled. “There’s something familiar about him, the way he walks. Grandfather!” her voice rose. “He’s my pilot, Dave Breen, the man who brought me to Nome!” She dashed madly down the hill.
“Well! Well! Think of finding you here!” Dave Breen exclaimed at sight of her. “And you a reindeer rustler! Know what they do to ’em? Shoot ’em at sunrise,” he laughed a roaring laugh. “But tell me, how come you’ve got the herd of deer we’ve been looking for?”
“There’s mulligan, reindeer mulligan on the stove,” said Florence. “And coffee’s steaming. Come on up and I’ll feed you and tell you our story, or at least part of it.”
“You’d better come clean,” laughed Dave. “I’m sworn in as a deputy and I’ve been instructed to arrest any persons in possession of that herd.”
Over coffee and mulligan, with her grandfather’s permission, Florence told the whole story.
“So your work here’ll be done in a few hours?” said Dave Breen. “Know what day tomorrow is?”
“No, I—”
“So you forgot. Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Dave exclaimed. “It’s the day before Christmas. And do you know what?” he paused for proper emphasis. “Know what? We’re going to leave these Eskimos in charge of the reindeer; they can bring them in O. K. We’ll leave them At-a-tak to mend their boots and her gray team to haul their supplies. They’ll be more than all right.
“And as for you and Jodie and that grandfather of yours, I’m going to pack you up in my plane and fly you back to Nome for the grandest Christmas you have ever known. And you can’t say no!”