The thing he did was to leap suddenly upon the crest of the snowbank with his hands held high in air, at the same time keeping a sharp eye on the attackers. If they shot he would instantly drop back.
They did not shoot. Their rifles went to their shoulders but when they saw his hands in air they hesitated.
After a brief consultation, two of them, with rifles extended before them for a hip-shot, walked slowly toward him.
When they were within twenty yards of him Curlie said in the calmest tone he could command:
“What’s the matter with you fellows? I didn’t steal your reindeer. Found him tangled in a thicket where he would have starved. Besides, I have no guns. What harm could I do you?”
Without a word the two men proceeded to advance. As they came closer Curlie became convinced that they were Indians and not Eskimos as he had supposed them to be.
“That makes it look different,” he told himself. “They may be reindeer rustlers who have stolen the reindeer herd. Probably are. Never heard of a reindeer herd being given to Indians. Might have, for all that. Or they may be just herding them for some white men.”
As the two men came up to him one man felt of his clothing for concealed weapons. After this, with a grunt, he pointed toward the cabin, then led the way, leaving his companion to bring up the rear.
Arrived at the edge of the forest, the foremost man joined the man who had remained behind. After a short consultation in tones too low to be understood, he returned to Curlie and again motioning him to follow, led him to a low log cabin.
Once inside this cabin, he pushed Curlie into a small dark room, after which he swung to a heavy door and dropped a ponderous bar.