“It’s like a village of the dead,” Johnny said in an awed whisper. In this he was more nearly right than he knew.
“Gone hunting,” said Gordon Duncan. His words carried no conviction.
“Come on. Let’s hurry,” said the girl, springing forward.
Once more Johnny put his shoulder to the sled. Gordon Duncan and Faye also seized the strap and together they went racing away down the slight incline that led to the village.
No sadder sight had this trio known than that which met their eyes as they peered within the first low, circular tent. Sprawled upon deer skins, sitting bent over as in a stupor, or lying prone like dead men, nine Eskimos greeted their entrance with not so much as a mumbled word or a stare.
“Dead,” was Johnny’s mental comment as he felt the girl’s impulsive grip on his arm.
“No,” he said aloud, “they’re not dead; only in a stupor from lack of food.”
“Hello!” he shouted.
“Hello!” came back in a hollow tone as if from a tomb. One of the squatting figures attempted to rise. His knees doubled up under him and he rolled upon the deerskins.
“Food!” Johnny said. “We have caribou meat.”