Fifty dollars! What could one not do with that? It seemed now that nothing much could be done. Had there been a boat, it might have been possible to secure steerage passage. There was no boat, ice had closed sea transportation for nine long months.
“Your only chance is the air-mail plane,” a kindly storekeeper assured her, “and air travel costs money in the north. Nothing like what it was in the days of dog-team travel, but plenty. Fifty dollars? Why, Miss, that wouldn’t buy oil for the trip. Better wait for spring. Then you can go by boat.”
Wait until spring? Nine months? Spring? That was time for work on the little valley farm. “Winter is the time for adventure,” she recalled the young aviator’s words.
“I’ll manage it some way. I—I’ve got to,” she turned suddenly away.
Meantime, in her mountain fastness, Mary was thinking of the long-lost grandfather and wondering vaguely about Mr. Il-ay-ok, the Eskimo, when, catching a slight sound, she looked up to see Peter Loome sitting beside her.
This sudden discovery was startling. By the light of the fire this man’s face was more repulsive than by day. She wondered, with a touch of panic, why he was here. Then, reassured by the nearness of Bill in the tent and of her friends below on the lake, she settled back in her place.
For a long time they sat there in silence with the eyes of night, the stars, looking down upon them. Then, because she could endure the silence no longer, and because she truly wanted to know, Mary said, “Mr. Loome, why do you hate that little Eskimo who calls himself Mr. Il-ay-ok?”
“Why, I,” the man started, “I—well, you see, he’s in my way, er—that is, he wants to be. He won’t be long. I—” the man’s voice rose, “I’ll smash him!” His foot crashed down upon the rocks. “Like that!”
“Why?” Mary’s voice was low.
For some time there came no answer. In the sky a star began sliding. It cut a circle and disappeared in the dark blue of night. A streak of light reached for the milky way. Northern lights, the girl thought.