“I’ll get you!” Curlie triumphed. “Sorry to do it, old boy, but it seems to be the only way we can come to terms.”
Slowly and yet more slowly they traveled. The reindeer had dropped almost to a walk when, with a sudden spurt, he did a peculiar thing. They were near a clump of willows. Charging straight at these, like an ostrich hiding his head in the sand, he buried himself in the rustling leaves.
“Well!” said Curlie, rising stiffly, “that’s that!
“And now,” he said, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “I think I’ll just tie you up here and leave you to browse on these tender willow leaves while I have a bit of frozen fish. After that I’ll drag the sleeping-bag into the brush for forty winks.”
A half hour later two thin columns of vapor rose from the willows, one from the reindeer and one from Curlie.
“Wonder if anyone will see them?” Curlie puzzled before he fell asleep. “Well, if they do, they do. I can’t help it and I’m too dead for sleep to care.”
Curlie’s runaway reindeer had carried him far. Hardly had he fallen asleep when two dog teams appeared over the crest of the ridge. This ridge, a mile away, looked down upon the willows from which the breath of Curlie and the reindeer arose.
The foremost of the two powerful dog teams was driven by a strongly built man who ran beside the sled. Upon the other sled rode a second individual.
“Whoa!” The weary dogs halted.
“Some one camped down there.” The man spoke more to himself than to his companion. “Might mean some food.” He looked to the loading of his rifle. “Might mean trouble.” So he stood there, apparently undecided, while the columns of vapor continued to rise from the willows.