Mosquitoes are not the worst pests in the Arctic either. They only came poking their noses into the holes and biting him a few times on that spot. Later on he would have to endure sand flies. Once these find an opening and buzz into it they never go out again, but creep up the arms and down the legs and crawl and itch till their victim dances in agony.
I want you to try to picture the party coming up over a crest of the rolling prairie: the dogs clattering their awkward gear on either side, the people, all in their loose, old, baggy clothes, all but Noashak bending a little under their loads, and all swishing right and left, left and right, with willow branches or loon skins at the cloud of insects following them.
“Swish, swish, swish.” “Biz, biz, biz, biz, biz.” “Swish.” “Biz, biz, biz, biz.” “Swish, swish.” “Biz, biz, biz, biz, biz, biz.”
So the chorus kept up from waking to sleeping, the army of flies numbering about a million to one and getting quite the best of it.
Kak trudged on manfully ahead of the others, keeping up with his father; sometimes stopping to fit an arrow and take a shot at a bird or small animal, and always with his eye open for the dreaded grizzly bear. Game abounded. Taptuna killed a caribou right at the start and they feasted on it, carrying the fresh meat with them. They were faring well, yet the farther they went inland the hotter it grew, till Guninana panted under her load of bedding as they toiled up a sharp incline to pitch camp. Okak always insisted on choosing the highest point for camping.
“You never know when or from where the Indians may come!” he repeated every evening; a speech that thrilled Kak, and made Taptuna smile, though he humored it.
“Much easier to spy out caribou from a hill,” he allowed.
And Guninana sighed: “There may be a breeze on the high ground and that will mean fewer mosquitoes.”
So far they had found excellent camping places with plenty of loose stones lying about to use as tent pegs weighting the flaps; and quantities of heather for cooking; but the increasing heat made their day’s march dreadfully tiresome and uncomfortable. At last it proved too much even for Okak.
“It’s sheer waste of effort to lug this extra food. We could go twice as fast without,” he said, removing the heavy bags of dried meat from Pikalu’s back. The poor dog laid himself on the ground panting. His eyes were swollen almost shut and his feet lame from mosquito bites all around where the hair joined the pad. The whole family gathered to consider his plight.