“No rocks here!” grunted Taptuna.
“Then what are those shadowy things?”
Okak pointed, but the chief guide was too fed up with his friend’s fancies to bother about them.
“You are always frightening yourself with shadowy things,” Guninana said. “Probably that river you see is a streak in the sky.”
They walked on in silence after that till Kak suddenly stopped.
“I see rocks,” he cried. “One—two—three.... Wolves and foxes! They’re not rocks, they’re tents!”
This was a most exciting discovery. No one had expected to find a village at the river’s mouth, but they welcomed it with joy. People camped here must be friendly, acquaintances by reputation anyhow. News travels slowly in the north, but very surely. Everybody hears everything sooner or later. Their jaded spirits soared in happy anticipation as they hurried on.
Dead silence greeted the party; not a sound nor a motion came from those tents. Evidently the inhabitants had all gone to bed early on account of the darkness. In this part of the country this time of year it is broad daylight always during fair weather, and a cloudy evening offers an excellent chance to catch up on one’s lost sleep. The only signs of life about the village were the dogs. Some lay curled on the ground following their masters’ example, and others prowled to and fro. Eskimo dogs are the worst watch dogs in the world: no good at all on the job. They never bark and they are generally chummy with travelers. These dogs proved no exception to the rule. As soon as they smelled the strangers they came out wagging their tails and making all sorts of friendly advances; not giving so much as one little “wow” of warning. If Taptuna and Okak had wanted to they could have crept into the tents and killed everybody.
Being awake and up and dressed the newcomers had decidedly the advantage in position; and yet Okak was so crazy-frightened at the thought of bad Eskimos, he trembled like an aspen and nagged to “Come away.” Taptuna, laughing, strode on.
“Visitors are here!” he called. “Visitors are here!”