of the nightgown more tightly before
him he set out as fast as his little bare legs would carry him towards
home, the trailing kelp attached to his waist bounding wildly along
behind him. . . .

It was thus that Ellen, white-faced with anxiety, met her returning son
as he rounded Sunset Point. She clasped him frantically to her to
assure herself that he was indeed safe and sound, and then held him off
at arm's length, surveying the havoc to his nightgown, and preparing
for the admonishing that was due. But Loll had already learned to
divert many a mild scolding by the relation of some startling
discovery. He launched forth now on the subject of the whale's head
and the stone balls that giants must have played with, giving
embellishments so amazing that his eyes stood out in growing
astonishment as he talked.

Out-maneuvered, Ellen led him to breakfast where he took his place
still holding forth on the wonders of his adventures. Kayak Bill
regarded him with an appreciative eye. Finally he drawled:

"Son, you sure do vocabulate most as well as a sourdough!" [1] He
paused to take a long, slow swoop of coffee and wipe his mouth with his
red bandana. "The whale's head that et Jonah ain't so bad--but them
giant hand balls o' stone sounds phoney. . . . You know there seems to
be somethin' about this durned country that just nache'ly makes white
men--not lie exactly--but sort o' put trimmin's on the truth. . . . I
recollect a couple o' yars back when I'm hibernatin' one winter up on
the Kuskokwim River with a bunch o' white trappers and prospectors."
With his spoon, Kayak scraped the bottom of his empty coffee-cup to get
every unmelted grain of sugar that lay there. "The next summer, I'm a
son-of-a-gun, if them Injines up there ain't callin' that place by an
Injine name that means 'The Valley o' Lies'. . . . I've sort o' got it
figgered out like this: This doggoned Alasky land, bein' so big and
magnificent like, a man just feels plumb ashamed to tell of some little
meachin' thing a-happenin' in it--he feels downright obliged to fix
things up so's they'll match the mountains and the rest o' it."

And drawing his corn-cob from the pocket of his hair-seal waistcoat,
Kayak Bill shuffled off into the cabin to light it from a splinter
thrust into the round draft hole of the Yukon stove, while Boreland and
Harlan made ready to leave for the provision camp at the North end.

For five days after landing the weather conti