The prisoner worked one arm loose and threw chunks of snow blindly in the dog’s direction. No use! He could not hit him, and it was an old game anyway. Then Kak had an inspiration. The remains of his lunch lay open on the ground. He fumbled for a piece of meat, held it up and waved it as teasingly as he could. Sapsuk understood that—wanted it. Continuous barking followed.
“Wof—wof—whooooooooof!”
The pup thought his master a pretty mean fellow not to toss him that one bite, and the boy’s arm ached. Still, their alarm rang out.
The sun was about at its highest Kak judged, but obscured by fog. He seemed to be growing colder and colder and more and more cramped. The ugrug had been having the best of it for a long time. Nevertheless the pain in his nose and the blood he had lost through the wound were beginning to wear him out. He did not struggle so constantly, nor pull so hard, nor plunge so deep at the end of the third hour, and often lay quite still; but by then Kak felt too numb to move. He knew the fog had lifted and could hear Sapsuk making that dismal noise which eventually caught Taptuna’s ear and brought him on the run. Once freed the dog dashed for his young master, while the Eskimo followed, not knowing what to expect.
It was a shock to see the boy stretched on his face so stiff and lifeless. Taptuna could only believe Kak had fallen and broken a leg—and frozen, perhaps, later. Trembling he sighed the boy’s name.
“Dad,” murmured Kak.
“He lives!”
With a great shout the man leaped into the air clapping his hands; Kak interrupted these transports of joy.
“Dad—he’s got me.”
“Got you? What does this mean—does the boy rave, is he in a trance?”