CHAPTER X
TREACHERY IN THE NIGHT
“I hear them! They are coming! Oh, Grandfather! Johnny Thompson! They are coming! The caribou are coming!”
As on that other occasion, the girl’s words were uttered in a low whisper, yet so tense were her feelings that her whispered words left in Johnny Thompson’s mind the impression of a sharp, shrill cry.
At once the boy’s mind was in a whirl. Had she heard them? Were they truly coming? Faye Duncan’s ears were keen as a fox’s. Her imagination also was keen. Had imagination deceived her? He had heard nothing.
“If they are coming, they may not pass this way.” This he whispered to the girl. “We must not hope too much.”
“No, we must not,” she answered quietly. “But I did hear it distinctly, the crack-crack of their hoofs! The wind brought in the sound. It’s died down now. I can hear it no longer. But,” she whispered tensely, “they must come! They must!”
To this Johnny agreed. Three days had passed since they arrived at the Eskimo camp. In that time, enheartened and strengthened by the white man’s caribou meat, the Eskimo had killed with bow and arrow five rabbits, three foxes and eight ptarmigan. But what were these among so many? The caribou meat was gone. Rabbit, fox, ptarmigan, all were gone, and starvation stared both Eskimos and whites in the face.
As the caribou had delayed their coming, there had been grumbling among the Eskimos. An aged witch doctor had said that the presence of the white men in the village had offended the spirits of all dead caribou and that they had told the living caribou to go north over some other route.
“We shall all starve,” the Eskimo had said, shaking with fear of the future.
“If only they were not such children!” the old Scot had said to Johnny. “If they had more courage and determination they might live a long time on small game. But, having become accustomed to living upon game taken by the rifle, they see only death ahead when no ammunition is to be had.”