At that he dropped upon his knees and offered up a prayer of thanks to the God who provides all that is good. The Eskimos saw and marveled, though perhaps not one of them all understood. To this remote tribe no missionary had ever come.
It was during the feast following the hunt that a surprising and disturbing drama was played out before the great roasting fire of the tribe.
A hammer of perfectly good American make lay upon the ground at Johnny’s feet. He sat munching a delicious bit of broiled steak and wondering how that hammer had come all the way to these barren lands, what dog team or boat had brought it, how many fox skins it had cost the Eskimo owner, and what use it had ever been put to in a land where there are neither boards nor nails, when of a sudden he conceived of an immediate use for it. A young Eskimo was attempting to obtain the juicy marrow from the bones of a roast leg of caribou. He was pounding the bone with a round stone. The stone slipped from his grip. The bone did not break. Again he tried without success.
“Here, let me have it.” Seizing the bone, Johnny laid it upon a flat rock and crushed it with a single blow of the hammer.
But what was this? As Johnny glanced about him, he found a dark frown upon the face of every Eskimo. As he offered the broken bone with its rich marrow exposed to the Eskimo boy, who a moment before had appeared so eager to possess it, he was met with a sudden;
“No me! No me!” Then the boy turned and walked away.
It was strange. Johnny could not fathom the mystery of the tribe’s actions. From that very moment they stood aloof. The joyous noise and chatter of feasting was at an end. They gathered in little groups, to speak to one another in mumbled gutturals. Soon they went to their tents, leaving only the three whites by the dying embers of the feast fire.
“What did I do?” Johnny asked. “Crushed a bone with a hammer, tried to do the boy a kindness, that was all.”
“You may never know,” the old Scot’s tone was low and serious. “We’d better be getting away. Morning will do. We’ll sleep. Then we’ll go.”
“It’s a queer way to treat us,” Johnny grumbled. “Here we have saved their lives, helped them secure food to tide them over, and at once they turn their backs upon us.”