"Seal-oil!" said Lucile. "What—" and then the full meaning of it came to her like a flash. "Marian!" she said in an almost inaudible whisper, "they mean to burn the cabin. That's what the wood and oil are for—to start the fire!"
The words were hardly out of her mouth when Marian gripped her arm.
"Look!" she cried.
A dense black smoke was rolling past the window.
Roused by her cry, the crippled Eskimo boy sprang upon his one well foot and came hopping toward them.
One look at the smoke, at the madly dancing old man, and he hopped for the door. Throwing the pole to the floor, he hopped outside and away.
"He's gone! Deserted us!"
"What does it matter now?" Lucile covered her face with her hands.
"But look!" cried Marian.
The boy had hopped out into the howling, dancing circle. The howling had ceased. He had tumbled to a sitting position on the snow, but was speaking and motioning with his hands. Once he pointed at his bandaged foot. Twice he put his hands to his mouth, as if to mimic eating. Then he sprang nimbly upon his one foot and would have leaped toward the now raging fire, but the one who had been first impassive, then had attempted to restrain the mad throng, restrained him, for the others, leaping at the fire, threw it hither and yon, stamping out with their feet the blaze that had already begun eating its way into the building.
It was all over in a minute. Then the two girls sank down upon the floor, dizzy and sick, wondering what it was all about.