"Go in! Go in! You will let the cold into the cottage," someone cried from the hall.
Stefan recognized Buza's voice.
"Come in, by all means!"
"They have no manners. They are real Chukchee. This one is called Wopatka; he has been baptized. He is rather a drunkard, and rather a thief, but a good fellow. And this one—it's better not to touch him—is Kituwia.... Don't touch him!"
The natives stood quietly in the middle of the room, and looked round inquisitively, but without the slightest bewilderment. Their furs, which they wore with the skin turned to the inside, hung about them heavily and clumsily. They appeared to Stefan to be very much alike. But Kituwia had a darker complexion, and there was evidence in his unmoving face, erect head, and compressed lips of a hard pride, amounting to contempt for all and everything.
Wopatka fell into a broad grin as he glanced eagerly with his slanting eyes round the room, which was so large and well furnished in comparison with his own tent.
"Take off your cap," Buza said to him, nudging him with his elbow.
Wopatka hastily pulled off his cap and showed the usual conical-shaped Chukchee head.
Kituwia had no cap. His long, thick, tousled hair was held back by a narrow strap tied just above his forehead. A similar strap from his low-cut skin jerkin crossed his bare chest and neck. He gave Stefan a sharp look, and uttered a few disconnected guttural sounds to his companion.
"There! Do you hear?" Buza said with a laugh. "They speak exactly like reindeer. They believe in reindeer, too; they think they will always have them in the next world. But Pan Józef told me to bring them, so I have brought them."