Jimmie looked sheepish and hastened to explain: “When we found their tracks, so many of them all about here, we thought: ‘Three is a very small party and perhaps, now we know where to find these dangerous people another year, it would be better to return with the news, and tell our story, rather than get into a fight and maybe remain silent forever.’”
Omialik kept his face perfectly grave while repeating this, and Kak with a great effort managed to control his; but they both wanted to burst out laughing.
“Who is the story for? Who are you planning to tell?”
“I’m coming to that,” Jimmie said. “You have been with this boy’s people? You know them—you trust them?”
“Many months,” Omialik answered. “I find them friendly.” And he winked at Kak, saying: “They are scared to death of your tribe, old man.”
The Eskimo simply had to chuckle then, so the Indians saw he was friendly; Jimmie began a long story about how he was in the service of Omialik’s friend, Selby, and Mr. Selby had asked him to look out for the white man and help him in every possible way.
Omialik translated this, too.
“Whoops! Help us!” cried Kak, laughing uproariously, flinging himself back and giving way to all the pent mirth he had been smothering. It really was ridiculous for Jimmie Muskrat to talk patronizingly of helping the white man at the very moment Omialik was feeding him and his friends. But the Indians did not see the joke. They seemed astonished at Kak’s performance, but reassured. They liked it—laughing people do not kill you. After a while Jimmie plucked up courage to go on.
“And Mr. Selby said if I meet you and you know any Eskimos, will you be a friend and introduce me to them; so that another year, when you are not in these parts, I will be able to bring Mr. Selby among them.”
Now this was a very likely message for one white man to send to another in that remote and unexplored country. Omialik did not doubt for a minute that every word of the story was true. Still, it troubled him. He had learned to love the Eskimos, a simple and good-hearted people living simple and true lives; he not only loved them, but he admired them greatly for their many fine qualities. Having lived also with redskins, he knew their faults. Indians are apt to whine when anything goes wrong; they are always ready to break a bargain; they haggle for more pay; they are afraid to venture out of their own territory, and when on a trip make excuses to get home by worrying about their absent friends—in fact, they have no backbone. The Eskimos show none of these bad traits. You do not need to scold an Eskimo to make him do his work. Quite the other way; never having been accustomed to hard words, even as children, Eskimos will not stand reproof at all, which is awkward if you happen to be dealing with a lazy man; but the Kabluna liked it better than being cross all the time. He felt unhappy about introducing Indians to his nice Eskimos for fear they might teach them all their bad tricks, and wanted a minute to think it over.