“I would not be worthy of my Scotch ancestry,” she said after a moment of silence, “nor of my grandfather, if I did not go when the call comes.”
After that, for a long time, as the click of hoofs and clash of antlers grew louder, there was silence in the place of hiding. As the girl sat half hidden by willow branches the dry leaves rustled to the time of her wildly beating heart.
“There!” Johnny whispered at last. “There! They have taken to the water. Now is the time.”
Creeping through the bushes until they were at the brink of the water, they plunged silently in.
“Good!” Johnny exclaimed hoarsely, “The Eskimos are doing their part nobly.”
It was true. A thin line of hunters, hip deep in the water, stood awaiting the great drove of caribou who had come too far to turn back.
A half minute more, and an arrow sped; another and yet another. Came a great splashing and thrashing of waters. In his dying frenzy a caribou beat an Eskimo into the freezing water. The Eskimo, bow in hand, was up in an instant and drawing to shoot again.
So went the battle. Drenched to the skin by water thrown upon him by the rushing herd, the vanguard of which had even now reached the bank, the old Scot stood his ground and drew such a bow as never in his life had he drawn before, while back to back with him the girl did her part.
Ten minutes of nerve wrecking strain, and all was over. Not, however, until food for many a long moon was supplied for every member of the strange little band.
“We-e-l-l,” said the old Scot as a half hour later, dressed in dry fur garments, loaned him by an Eskimo, he sat beside a willow bush fire, “with God’s help we won. And our God must be thanked.”