Ten minutes of tugging, twisting, tucking in, and they were lying side by side rejoicing in the warmth that comes even in the Arctic wilds.
“Now,” said Johnny, “tell me what you know. Are they bank robbers from the States?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Rich men’s sons on what they’d call a lark?”
“Oh, my no!”
“Foreigners who are trying to enter this country or the United States without passports?”
“Perhaps. They are foreigners; great husky fellows with tall fur hats and great bearskin coats. They speak hardly a word of English. But if all they wish is to enter a country, why all this secret wandering in the air? Why not enter and have it over with?”
“But you?” Johnny asked.
“My father’s a buffalo ranger down on the preserve. You know we have woods-buffalo in a preserve south of Great Slave Lake, just as you have them in Yellowstone Park. I was looking for some strays when they landed on the river. And they nabbed me.”
“But why?”