“Okak was at our house last night—he thinks you’re some pup! Say, would you believe it! I got out of my bed early to go and see this famous ugrug killer, and I—ha-ha!—I—ha-ha!—I found him spearing little fishes!”
Kommana thought this a tremendous joke and went off into peals of laughter, holding his shaking sides. But Kak was hardly so pleased. To change the subject he dashed right into the ugrug story and told it as fast as he could; and after that he told about his house-building, and then about the white bear. By the time all his stories were done it was growing dark and Kommana said they had better leave the load. But Kak would not hear of that, so he pitched in and piled, while the fat fellow stood around and told him how, moving a stick now and again, and patting the dogs. Finally when the load was up and they were ready to start for home Kak had done all the work and all the entertaining, and Kommana had only sharpened his wits and enjoyed life. On their way back, however, he made Kak an offer.
“If you’ll bring me a cracker-jack piece of spruce,” he said, “a real good, wide slab to make a snow shovel, I’ll get my dad to give you one of the pups out of our last litter.”
Kak’s eyes sparkled. “Honor bright?”
“Honor bright. They’re fine pups, too; but I’ve been looking for a piece broad enough to make a shovel for three years.”
“You’ve as good as got it in your hand,” the Copper Eskimo replied. “I’ve been wanting a dog of my own for ever so long!”
CHAPTER VII
Twenty-four Hours of Sunlight
“Whoops! Look at the sleigh, dad! Look at it for a wreck!”
Kak stormed down on his father with these cheerful words as the latter returned from fishing.
The party had been delayed at Rae River, Noashak was feverish; she lay on her bed for a week and took no interest in anything, while her parents worried over her and over this hitch in their plans. If they were held up long it was likely to place them in serious difficulty, for they had to cross another large river before turning south on the prairie, and with no boat to carry inland they must cross by the bay ice at its mouth. Spring had begun in earnest here; the snow was melting rapidly. Warm water pouring down every stream and rill and all along the banks ran out over the ice and melting formed channels, which flowed themselves like little rivers seeking their outlet by way of the tide cracks. They ran in all directions, wearing away the softer ice and leaving wet bumps and hummocks sticking up between. The tide cracks, which are always found in ice near the shore and are caused, as their name suggests, by the action of the tides, instead of being several inches wide, were worn away to three or four feet. Hauling a loaded sleigh across these and over this wet irregular surface was sure to prove a pretty severe business. Guninana dare not start with a sick child.