The boy found himself suddenly, vividly, plunged back into that terrifying moment before Omialik appeared, when his courage oozed out of him, his hair stirred on his head, and cold sweat started from every pore. He tried to imagine his little sister so amazed, surrounded, trapped by some wild beast of the woods—but it was too awful.
“Come on!” he cried, springing to his feet. “We’ve got to get ahead!”
They had been talking a long time and it was now dark with a cloudy sky. The white man’s instinct was to camp and wait for daylight. But Kak urged him so to “Come along,” to “Try,” that he gave in against his better judgment, and they began scrambling through the thick brush. It was slow, heavy travel and after an hour’s effort, Omialik stopped.
“No use, Kak, we are only losing our way and getting all mixed up. I haven’t any idea which way we are heading. This seems a likely spot, so far as one can feel, and I hear water. Let us camp and wait for morning.”
Kak was about ready to drop from fatigue and silently agreed. They built a little fire for the night was cold, and ate some more dried meat, drinking great refreshing draughts from the spring which Omialik’s quick ear had not failed to note.
“What is that strange smell?” asked the boy, sniffing the keen, autumn wind.
“Caribou, or I’m mistaken. My, but it’s strong! We must be close to an enormous herd—the first caribou I have struck in three days, and it’s so pitch-black I can’t see my hand before my face! What rotten luck!”
“Well, I’m glad it is dark! I’m too tired for hunting,” Kak answered, and throwing himself on a bed of moss, immediately slept.
The young hunter awakened in the early morning of a quiet lowering day. Caribou scent hung heavy in the still air. He noticed a strange vibration through the ground, heard the thud and rustle of trotting feet; sat up and shook his companion.
Omialik rolled over sleepily, opened one eye, grew conscious also of that odd trembling in the ground, opened the other eye, and lay staring into the clouds.