A moment later Faye was lifting a laughing brown child from his mother’s arms, and a joyous group of nomad people were clambering up the shelving bank to safety.
Faye’s joy knew no bounds. They had been instrumental, with God’s help, in saving a half score of lives. While Gordon Duncan shared quietly in her joy, his heart was in the hills. His eyes followed the trail over which the four great dogs and their white bearded master had vanished.
Sensing all this, Faye resolved at once to enlist their new-found friends in a fresh endeavor to come up with her Grandfather’s former companion, and so to solve that which for her had become a great mystery.
“But first,” she told herself, with a fresh pang of pain throbbing at her heartstrings, “we must try to find some trace of Johnny Longbow.”
The little brown people they had saved proved to be Indians from the land of Little Sticks. In their search for food they had been forced farther and farther north until they came to the upper reaches of the mighty Yukon. Having killed three caribou, they had found their needs supplied for the moment. This was enough. They had pitched their tents on the little island. As they rested before the long journey back to their accustomed hunting grounds, they had been caught unawares by the flood.
Always a wandering people, ever grateful for kindness, they were ready for any undertaking or adventure. There was still a supply of caribou meat on their sleds. What next should be done?
To the one member of their company who could understand English, Faye explained the curious circumstances that had brought them so far north. She told also of the misadventure that apparently had befallen their traveling companion.
No sooner was a simple meal of stewed meat and tea over than the entire company spread out fan-shape in a search for the lost boy.
Four o’clock found them returning to camp one by one with reports of failure. Only one clue was brought to light. The three men of the Indian party returned bearing on their shoulders great pieces of bear meat. This bear, they explained, had been slain with a bow and arrow. They produced the arrow as proof. And they explained further with many a strange exclamation that the man who shot the arrow was the most powerful giant that ever lived. No Eskimo, no Indian, no white man they had ever known pulled a bow with such a force and power. They felt quite sure he must be some strange spirit being, not human at all.
“It is Johnny’s arrow,” said Faye at once. “But he was possessed of no such strength. Who could have shot the arrow?”