Captain Nickerson wished to purchase some reindeer for fresh meat, but none were at the coast. The deermen were said to be stationed in a valley half a dozen miles in the interior, and he decided to send an expedition inland in search of some. A coast native volunteered as guide, and brought along a sledge and dog team for the transportation of supplies. Mr. Jones, the taciturn first mate, was detailed in command of this expedition, and Harry and Joe were allowed to go, with many injunctions to be careful not to get into trouble with the Chow Chuen, as the deermen call themselves.
It was a perfect June day when they set off. There was no breath of wind, and the sun shone brilliantly as they landed on the shore ice, transferred their supplies to the sledge, and set off through the native village toward the hills. They had instructions not to be gone longer than over one night, and it was agreed that a signal of trouble and need of assistance should be three shots repeated in quick succession. Such precautions were necessary as the Chow Chuen, though generally willing to barter, are of uncertain temper, and even the mersinkers are not to be trusted when they seem to have an advantage. Harry and Joe tramped on ahead of the company, the Eskimo following with his team and sledge, and Mr. Jones bringing up the rear. The air was warm, and on bare spots the spring grass was already growing through the tundra moss, but the snow still covered most of the earth, and the trail lay across it, well trodden.
Each boy carried a rifle and was well supplied with cartridges, while Harry had in addition a small camera slung over his shoulder by a strap. The boys were in high glee at the outing, after the long confinement aboard ship, and rollicked along well ahead of the others. Yet their progress was slow, the way winding, and it was lunch time and yet they had not reached the upland valley, where the camp of the deermen was said to be. A few dry twigs of willow—the only growth of wood, and this in the main creeping vine fashion, and rising only to a height of two or three feet—were found to feed a fire, and a pot of tea was boiled. Then after the men had taken a hasty smoke, the journey was resumed. It was mid-afternoon when they seemed to be reaching the summit of a low divide. The six miles had stretched into a dozen, and there was no sign of human life among the hills, only the beaten trail leading steadily on over the snow. The mate had seemed anxious for an hour or so, and had swung into the lead along with the boys.
“Home pretty soon,” he said, wasting no words; “most far enough.” A moment after, they rounded a ledge of broken basaltic rock, and looked down upon a scene of pastoral life such as only the extreme north of Asia can show. A brown and sheltered valley wound among the rude hills. It was bare of snow in the main, and the golden brown moss, with which it was carpeted, showed green with grasses already springing in it. In scattered groups about this grazed several hundred reindeer, many brown in color, some piebald, the old ones bearing branching antlers, the fawns spotted, and gamboling like any young deer. Here and there, fur-clad herders watched them, and there was a little group of large skin topeks at one side of the valley not far off, the homes of the herders and their families. Thither they turned, the coast native taking the lead now. They were near the little hut hamlet before any one took notice of them, when a man suddenly appeared with a rifle in his hands. He was taller than the coast native, and seemed more robust. He fearlessly pointed the rifle at the approaching party.
“Way enough!” shouted Mr. Jones. “Hold water!”
At a wave of his hand the Eskimo went ahead resolutely, his hands held up palm forward as a sign of peace, and shouting, “Nagouruk! Nagouruk!”
The deerman lowered the muzzle of his rifle, and the two talked for a moment. Then the Eskimo made a sign for the party to come forward. The deerman met them with the word “Nagouruk,” which means “Good,” in token of friendship, and talked with the Eskimo volubly in a dialect that no one in the party could make much of. The other, who could speak some English, explained that it was doubtful if deer could be bought. It had been a bad winter, many had died in the deep snow, and they wished to let the herd increase during the spring and summer, lest they face starvation next winter. In any case, it would be necessary to consult the head deerman, and he would send for him.
“Watch out,” said Mr. Jones to Joe and Harry. “Don’t like this gang.”
The deermen’s topeks numbered about half a dozen, scattered along the sunny side of an abrupt turn in the cliff which bordered the valley’s edge. The deerman lifted the flap of one of these, and motioned them to enter. A crowd of curious women and children, the smaller of these latter perched on their mothers’ shoulders astride their necks, had begun to gather. Men came running up from the other topeks, and the little party was soon being stared at, criticised, and even poked and hustled, in half-curious, half-insolent fashion. The Chow Chuen are certainly no respecters of persons. They hate and distrust the white man, but they do not fear him.
Mr. Jones hesitated. Then he motioned to Harry to stand by the sled. “Stand watch, will you?” he said. “Keep ’em off. Don’t get gallied.”