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Updated: May 11, 2025
Slowly rising, he faced the north, lifted his hand, and remained statuesque in his immobility. Then he began deliberately packing his blankets and traps on his sled, which had not been unhitched from the train of dogs. "Jackoway ditchen hula," he said, and pointed south. "Jackoway ditchen hula," echoed Rea. "The damned Indian says 'wife sticks none. He's goin' to quit us.
Blankets of snow had been their covering. Rea had ceased his "Jackoway out of wood," for a reiterated question: "Where are the wolves?" "Lost," replied Jones in hollow humor. Near the close of that day, in which they had resumed travel, from the crest of a ridge they descried a long, low, undulating dark line.
"Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood!" Then he choked. The north wind, blowing through the thin, dark, weird spruce trees, moaned and seemed to sigh, "Naza! Naza! Naza!" "Who all was doin' the talkin' last night?" asked Frank next morning, when we were having a late breakfast. "Cause I've a joke on somebody.
Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood!" On the day following the desertion, Jones found tracks to the north of the camp, making a broad trail in which were numerous little imprints that sent him flying back to get Rea and the dogs. Muskoxen in great numbers had passed in the night, and Jones and Rea had not trailed the herd a mile before they had it in sight.
What do you think of thet? His wife's out of wood. Jackoway out of wood, an' here we are two days from the Arctic Ocean. Jones, the damned heathen don't go back!" The trapper coolly cocked his rifle. The savage, who plainly saw and understood the action, never flinched. He turned his breast to Rea, and there was nothing in his demeanor to suggest his relation to a craven tribe.
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