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Updated: May 12, 2025
Steve had been relieved for his midday meal. He was relieved by An-ina, assisted by Julyman. Oolak stood by with his club, ready for any display of the predatory instincts that yielded to temptation. Steve had not yet returned from the kitchen. He had finished his hearty meal and lit his pipe.
I got it, by inference, from my talks with Lorson Harris. The Seal Bay Co. are out after us all they know. They're out after our stuff. Our secret. They've opened up Fort Duggan, and sent a crook called David Nicol there to run it. And he's out to jump our claim. It comes to this. This outfit is on the prowl. Their job is to locate us. Well? An-ina alone! Even Julyman with her!
But he not know the voice of the spirits that speak much with Indian man. Oolak know him. So. An' the father of Oolak. Oh, yes. So we find this fire sometime. We find him. This fire of the world. The spirits tell Oolak, so him not afraid nothing." Julyman set a pannikin down with a clatter. He raised a brown hand pointing. He was pointing at Oolak, and his eyes were wide with inspiration.
It run so as water. It fill 'em up all things everywhere. An' it burn all up. Not boss Steve an' Julyman. Oh, no." Steve meditated awhile. Oolak needed an interpretation of his dream, or, anyway, must listen to the voice of comfort. He understood this as he gazed upon the partially crippled body of the man who was still a giant on the trail. The passing of years had touched Steve lightly enough.
But his denial remained uncompleted. It was interrupted by a sharp cry from Julyman some distance away with the rear sled. The two men turned in his direction. They beheld his lean figure busy amongst his dogs, plying his club impartially, as though in an effort to quell some canine dispute. But that was not all. As they gazed they saw the iron-shod tail of the sled rise up.
They stood up like black, unsightly, broken teeth, against a cavernous background of fire burning in the maw of some Moloch colossus. They stood out bared to the bone of the world's foundations. Julyman shaded his eyes with hands that sought to shut out a vision his savage superstition could no longer support. Oolak had no such emotion.
Him much wise man." The white man smiled tolerantly. He shrugged. "Guess you got a nightmare, Julyman," he said. "Best turn over." Steve had nothing to add. He knew his scouts as he knew all other Indians in the wide wilderness of the extreme Canadian north. These creatures were submerged under a mental cloud of superstition and mystery.
She not say 'An-ina come, too, so she frighten all devil men away. Oh, no. An-ina woman. She not scare any more as Steve an' Marcel. She sit by fire. She mak' Steve him shirt. She have gun, plenty. No man come. Oh, no. She not scare for nothing. An-ina brave woman, too. Steve, Marcel mak' her coward. Oh, no. Outfit ready Julyman Oolak all him dogs. Yes. Steve him go right away.
Just now, however, the excitement of hope had robbed the white man of something of his habit. "Guess your yarn didn't just locate them. Where d'you reckon they are?" Julyman slackened his gait as they breasted the final rise where the sled track vanished over the brow of the hill.
It was Steve who reached the brow first, and it was his arm, and his voice that indicated the discoveries beyond. "Right!" he exclaimed. "Look, Julyman," he went on pointing. "A lodge. A lodge of neches. And see! What's that?" There was excitement in the tone of his question. "It's a fort!" he cried, his eyes reflecting the excitement he could no longer restrain. "A post!
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