For a period of five minutes after that he stood motionless, watching the dying throes of the bear.
Then, with no apparent effort, he lifted the boy to a position of ease across his deformed shoulders, picked up the bow and arrows, and went marching away.
He tramped doggedly on for the better part of the night. Just as dawn was breaking he arrived at the door of a long, low, crudely built cabin. Depositing his burden by the door, he went inside.
* * * * * * * *
Faye Duncan and her grandfather watched the movements of the frightened natives on the little island for some time before anything like a solution of the problem offered itself to their minds.
That these people were natives they did not doubt. Whether they were savage or half civilized they did not for a moment question. They were human. That was enough. If a way offered, they must be saved.
Racing along beside the men were several dogs. Close to the water’s edge were well packed sleds. The constant rising of the water was shown by the fact that twice the sleds had to be drawn back.
“It’s a matter of an hour,” said Gordon Duncan. “Perhaps not that. What’s to be done?”
Suddenly the girl’s face lighted with a gleam of hope. Quickly drawing off her sweater that had protected her from many an Arctic gale, she did a strange thing. Having cut the end of a sleeve squarely off at the lower end to break the binding stitches, she began rapidly unraveling it and dropping the yarn in a loose pile upon the ground.
Not understanding at all, her grandfather stood watching in unfeigned astonishment.