But if the East Capers were favored, the men of Whaling were not. One lone whale, and that a small one, was their total take. Witch-doctors began declaring that the presence of strange, white-faced women in their midst was displeasing to the spirits of dead whales. The making of the images of the people on canvas was also sure to bring disaster.
As reports of this dissatisfaction came to the ears of the girls, they began straining their eyes for a square sail on the horizon. Still their boat did not come.
Then came the crowning disaster of the year. The walrus herd, on which the natives based their last hope, passed south along the coast of Alaska instead of Siberia. Their caches were left empty. Only the winter's supply of white bear and seal could save them from starvation.
"Dezra! Dezra!" (It is enough!) the natives whispered among themselves.
The day after the return of the walrus canoes Marian and Lucile went for a long walk down the beach.
Upon rounding a point in returning Marian suddenly gave a gasp. "Look,
Lucile! It's gone—our tent!"
"Gone!" exclaimed Lucile unbelievingly.
"I wonder what—"
"Look, Marian; the whole village!"
"Let's run."