Suddenly the man spoke. “I don’t mind tellin’ you. You’ll never be up there,” he pointed toward the north. “None of you dirt-diggers down here will ever be up there where the north begins, where men and dogs fight fer what they git an’ ask neither odds ner quarters.”
Mary caught her breath as he paused. He is sort of a rough poet she thought. At that moment she almost admired him. But not for long.
“It’s the reindeer,” he burst out. “Eskimo’s got ’em. Too many of ’em. What does an Eskimo know about makin’ money? Nothin’! Then what’s the good of him havin’ all them reindeer? No good!” He spat on the snow.
“Well, at last the Government is seein’ reason,” he went on after a time. “The Government’s told the Eskimo they gotta take their reindeer back—back—back, way back to the mountains where there’s plenty of feed.
“Think the Eskimos’ll do it?” He squinted his eyes at her. “Narry a one. They’ll stick to the shore. They’ll hunt seal an’ walrus, or starve. That’s where their homes is, on the coast, allus has been, allus will be.
“So,” his voice dropped. “So they’ll sell their reindeer, sell ’em cheap. And who’ll buy? Me! Me and my company. We got money. We’ll get rich on reindeer. Reindeer!” Leaping to his feet, he started pacing like some wild beast before the fire.
“This Il-ay-ok,” he went on after a time. “He thinks he can stop us. He’s educated. Think of it! Educated! An Eskimo educated!” he laughed hoarsely.
“He seemed such a nice, polite little man,” Mary ventured.
“Well, maybe he is. Polite!” one more burst of laughter. “But he won’t get nowhere with politeness. He’s outside now, down in Washington. The last boat’s come from up yonder. No more for nine months. Reindeer got to get into the mountains before this old year dies. What can this polite Il-ay-ok do about that?”
“There are airplanes,” Mary suggested.