Kak loitered yet a little gloating over the prospect of his ride. He wanted golden shafts of light bathing yesterday’s trail which showed now plain as an open lead. He wanted to be able to tear along. One fast dash to the carcass would more than make up for delay, so he fiddled with the dogs.
“Have you not gone yet?” asked Guninana, surprised, when she came out to examine her bearskin stretched on a frame to dry.
“Just as soon as the sun rises, mother, I’ll be away like an arrow. See, I am harnessing now,” Kak answered.
He was, truly. He had begun to hitch each dog to its trace at the first sound of her voice, and kept himself very busy about it.
Like all real boys, Kak did not mind a lot of extra trouble in making play out of his work. It was fun to pretend he must go on a long journey alone; so he went to the tunnel, which also serves as storehouse, and taking his father’s big snow knife, used to carve out the blocks when building, he bound it securely on to one side of the sled.
“Whatever is that for?” asked Noashak, who was playing with the neighbor girls, running up on top of the house and sliding down its smooth curve. “What is the snow knife for?”
“In case I decide to stop overnight,” said Kak, swelling with importance.
“Oh, pooh! Stay all night! Why you are only going to the whale carcass. It is no distance at all! Daddy said you could easily make two trips in daylight.”
Kak flushed. “I shall make double that—I shall make four!” he answered, hotly. “Watch me!”
As he spoke the sun’s rim peeped above the long flat beach, streaking the blue-gray world with vivid gold. As if at a signal Kak let go of his team and sprang for the sled with a “Yi—yi—yip!” Instantly both dogs bounded forward. They were off!