"Oh, mebby fifteen miles from here."
"Do they live on the tundra as they used to?"
"Yes."
"Are there many of them?"
"Not now. Many, one time. Now very few. Not many reindeer. Too much not moss. Plenty starve. Plenty die."
"Ask the Chukche," Marian said eagerly, "if I may go home with him to see his people."
The boy spoke for a moment with the grave-visaged stranger.
"He say, that one, he say yes," smiled the boy.
"Tell him I will be back quick." Marian was away like a shot.
Tearing into their igloo she drove Lucile into a score of activities. The medicine chest was filled and closed, paints stowed in their box, garments packed, sleeping-bags rolled up. Then they were away.