It was even so with Curlie. He had not traveled the northern route long, but certain spots had become well marked by his keen eye.
“Jerry!” he shouted aloud. “Jerry! We have won!”
“Absolutely,” Jerry agreed sleepily.
“Sure we have! Look! We have outridden the storm. And see! There are the circles of willows that border Lake Athabaska. And away over yonder is a feeble light. That’s at Fort Chipewyan. Be there in twenty minutes!”
“Absolutely.” Jerry straightened up in his place.
“Pork chops at the Chink’s, Jerry,” the boy went on. “Pork chops with fried potatoes and coffee and half an apple pie. What say?”
“Absolutely, son. Absolutely.”
“And after that, old sleepy head, you’ll work three hours on the motors.”
“Absolutely, son! Make it four! Can’t be too sure about the blasted motor. You really can’t.”
As the skis bumped, and then bumped again on the icy surface that was the landing field at Fort Chipewyan, Curlie’s eyes strayed toward the golden moon as a voice seemed to whisper: “Somewhere beyond the sky there is a power that guides and guards our ways.”