“Very, very, very much afraid of them?” Patsy insisted.
Terogloona’s head nodded vigorously.
“Then,” said Patsy, with a twinkle in her eye, “if we let one wolfdog loose, and he went toward Bill Scarberry’s herd, would they run away?”
“Eh-eh. Mebby. Want kill reindeer, that dog. Mebby kill one, two, three—many. Sometimes that way, wolfdogs.”
Terogloona’s horror of the thing she had proposed, shone in his eyes. Many years he had been a herder of reindeer. Many a dog had he killed to save a reindeer. His love for dogs was strong. His love for reindeer was stronger. To deliberately turn a wolfdog loose to prey upon a herd of reindeer, even an enemy’s herd, was unthinkable.
Patsy, having read his thoughts, threw back her head and laughed.
“We won’t do that,” she said soberly, “but, Terogloona, if each one of those strange Eskimo people should take a dog by his draw rope, and then they all should walk toward that old cheat’s herd, what would happen?”
A sudden gleam stole into the aged herder’s eyes. He was beginning to catch her meaning. The deer were upon forbidden ground. She was finding a way to drive them back to the place where they belonged.
“They would go away very fast,” he said quickly.
“And would these Eskimos do that; would they do it for two sacks of flour; two cans of baking-powder; two slabs of bacon and some sugar?” asked Patsy breathlessly.