Thirty seconds later, powerful hands gripped his shoulders while in a hoarse whisper a voice spoke.
“What was he doing?” It was the old Scot.
“Try—trying—” The girl struggled hard to retain her composure. “He had a long knife. He was trying to kill Johnny.”
For a moment the old Scot sat in silent meditation.
“They are ungrateful beasts!” The girl’s low whisper was tense with indignation.
“No, no, girl, you must not think that! They are but children, frightened children. Afraid, that’s what they are. Afraid of the trees in the forest, of spirits that do not exist at all, afraid, afraid. You must not blame them.”
Lifting the young Eskimo to his feet, he pointed away toward the little village of native tents, then gave him a gentle shove.
A new terror gripped the girl’s heart. What if, after all, she had been too late?
“Slept through it all!” the old Scot grumbled. “Have to shake him a bit.”
He disappeared within the tent. A moment later, to her intense relief, Faye heard the two conversing in low tones.
“We’ll pack up,” said the grandfather as he emerged from the tent. “Something has gone amiss. Can’t tell what. There’s no use to stay. Let’s get away as soon as we can.”
An hour later, with a glorious yellow moon hanging low in the sky to light their way, and with Tico to lead them on, the little party pushed off into the night.
All through the remainder of the night and the greater part of the day they moved forward. A strange spectacle, a dog, an old man, a young man and a girl moving over an endless expanse of white, doing a forced march to escape from those whom they had come to save. They were following an entirely new course, one which Johnny believed would bring them to their journey’s end, Timmie’s cabin and green gold.
“Forgive them, child. Forgive them,” the old Scot said as he read the look of unhappiness on his granddaughter’s face. “Learn to pray the prayer of one much more worthy than we, ‘Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.’ Some day a missionary will come to them. He will teach them. Then they will understand.”
Strange to say, as they traveled away from the tundra toward the forest at the foot of the mountain, a brown spot like a drifting shadow or prowling wolf followed them. When at last they came to the edge of the forest and began making camp, this shadowy figure did not enter the forest, but sought out the shelter of a cut bank of earth, to drop down upon a flat rock and remain quite motionless for many hours.