Do you mean Wills, or the Superior, Father Brachet?"

"Oh yes! MacManus at Tanana." He spoke as though inadvertently he had
confused the names. As the strangers gave him the winter's news from
Holy Cross, his wonder and astonishment grew.

Presently, "Do you know my friend Nicholas of Pymeut?" asked the Boy.

Kurilla took his empty pipe out of his mouth and smiled in broad
surprise. "Nicholas!" repeated several others. It was plain the Pymeut
pilot enjoyed a wide repute.

The Boy spoke of the famine and Ol' Chief's illness.

"It is true," said Unookuk gravely, and turning, he added something in
Ingalik to the company. Peetka answered back as surly as ever. But the
Boy went on, telling how the Shaman had cured Ol' Chief, and that
turned out to be a surprisingly popular story. Peetka wouldn't
interrupt it, even to curse the Leader for getting up and stretching
himself. When the dog--feeling that for some reason discipline was
relaxed--dared to leave his cramped quarters, and come out into the
little open space between the white men and the close-packed assembly,
the Boy forced himself to go straight on with his story as if he had
not observed the liberty the Leader was taking. When, after standing
there an instant, the dog came over and threw himself down at the
stranger's feet as if publicly adopting him, the white story-teller
dared not meet Peetka's eye. He was privately most uneasy at the Nigger
dog's tactless move, and he hurried on about how Brother Paul caught
the Shaman, and about the Penitential Journey--told how, long before
that, early in the Fall, Nicholas had got lost, making the portage from
St. Michael's, and how the white camp had saved him from starvation;
how in turn the Pymeuts had pulled the speaker out of a blow-hole; what
tremendous friends the Pymeuts were with these particular, very good
sort of white men. Here he seemed to allow by implication for Peetka's
prejudice--there were two kinds of pale-face strangers--and on an
impulse he drew out Muckluck's medal. He would have them to know, so
highly were these present specimens of the doubtful race regarded by
the Pymeuts--such friends were they, that Nicholas' sister had given
him this for an offering to Yukon Inua, that the Great Spirit might
help them on their way. He owned himself wrong to have delayed this
sacrifice. He must to-morrow throw it into the first blow-hole he came
to--unless indeed... his eye caught Kurilla's. With the help of hi