“I must say you’re complimentary to the few other Christians scattered about the world.”

“Don’t get mifft, Colonel.  I’ve known plenty of people straight as a die, and capital good fellows.  I’ve seen them do very decent things now and then.  But with these Jesuit missionaries—­Lord! there’s no let up to it.”

No answer from the Protestant Colonel.  Presently the Boy in a sleepy voice added elegantly: 

“No Siree!  The Jesuits go the whole hog!”

* * * * *

Winter was down on the camp again.  The whole world was hard as iron.  The men kept close to the Big Chimney all day long, and sat there far into the small hours of the morning, saying little, heavy-eyed and sullen.  The dreaded insomnia of the Arctic had laid hold on all but the Colonel.  Even his usually unbroken repose was again disturbed one night about a week later.  Some vague sort of sound or movement in the room—­Kaviak on a raid?—­or—­wasn’t that the closing of a door?

“Kaviak!” He put his hand down and felt the straight hair of the Esquimaux in the under bunk.  “Potts!  Who’s there?” He half sat up.  “Boy!  Did you hear that, Boy?”

He leaned far down over the side and saw distinctly by the fire-light there was nobody but Kaviak in the under bunk.

The Colonel was on his legs in a flash, putting his head through his parki and drawing on his mucklucks.  He didn’t wait to cross and tie the thongs.  A presentiment of evil was strong upon him.  Outside in the faint star-light he thought a dim shape was passing down towards the river.

“Who’s that?  Hi, there!  Stop, or I’ll shoot!” He hadn’t brought his gun, but the ruse worked.

“Don’t shoot!” came back the voice of the Boy.

The Colonel stumbled down the bank in the snow, and soon stood by the shape.  The Boy was dressed for a journey.  His Arctic cap was drawn down over his ears and neck.  The wolf-skin fringe of his parki hood stood out fiercely round the defiant young face.  Wound about one of his seal-skin mittens was the rope of the new hand-sled he’d been fashioning so busily of nights by the camp fire.  His two blankets were strapped on the sled, Indian fashion, along with a gunny sack and his rifle.

The two men stood looking angrily at each other a moment, and then the Colonel politely inquired: 

“What in hell are you doing?”

“Goin’ to Minook.”

“The devil you are!”

“Yes, the devil I am!”

They stood measuring each other in the dim light, till the Colonel’s eyes fell on the loaded sled.  The Boy’s followed.

“I’ve only taken short rations for two weeks.  I left a statement in the cabin; it’s about a fifth of what’s my share, so there’s no need of a row.”

“What are you goin’ for?”

“Why, to be first in the field, and stake a gold-mine, of course.”

The Colonel laid a rough hand on the Boy’s shoulder.  He shook it off impatiently, and before the older man could speak: