Behind the semicircle of men, three or four deep, were ranged the ranks of youth—­boys and girls from six to fourteen—­standing as silent as their elders, but eager, watchful, carrying king salmon, dried deer-meat, boot-soles, thongs for snow-shoes, rabbits, grouse.  A little fellow of ten or eleven had brought in the Red Dog, and was trying to reconcile him to his close quarters.  The owner of Red and Spotty sat with empty hands at the semicircle’s farthest end.  But he was the capitalist of the village, and held himself worthily, yet not quite with the high and mighty unconcern of the owner of the Leader.

Peetka came in late, bringing in the Nigger dog against the Nigger dog’s will, just to tantalise the white men with the sight of something they couldn’t buy from the poor Indian.  Everybody made way for Peetka and his dog, except the other dog.  Several people had to go to the assistance of the little boy to help him to hold Red.

“Just as well, perhaps,” said the Colonel, “that we aren’t likely to get all three.”

“Oh, if they worked together they’d be all right,” answered the Boy.  “I’ve noticed that before.”  But the Leader, meanwhile, was flatly refusing to stay in the same room with Red.  He howled and snapped and raged.  So poor Red was turned out, and the little boy mourned loudly.

Behind the children, a row of squaws against the wall, with and without babies strapped at their backs.  Occasionally a young girl would push aside those in front of her, craning and staring to take in the astonishing spectacle of the two white men who had come so far without dogs—­pulling a hand-sled a greater distance than any Indian had ever done—­if they could be believed!

Anyhow, these men with their sack of tea and magnificent bundle of matches, above all with their tobacco—­they could buy out the town—­everything except Peetka’s dog.

The Colonel and the Boy opened the ball by renewing their joint offer of eighty dollars for Red and Spotty.  Although this had been the old Ingalik’s own price, it was discussed fully an hour by all present before the matter could be considered finally settled, even then the Colonel knew it was safest not to pay till just upon leaving.  But he made a little present of tobacco in token of satisfactory arrangement.  The old man’s hands trembled excitedly as he pulled out his pipe and filled it.  The bucks round him, and even a couple of the women at the back, begged him for some.  He seemed to say, “Do your own deal; the strangers have plenty more.”

By-and-by, in spite of the limited English of the community, certain facts stood out:  that Peetka held the white man in avowed detestation, that he was the leading spirit of the place, that they had all been suffering from a tobacco famine, and that much might be done by a judicious use of Black Jack and Long Green.  The Colonel set forth the magnificent generosity of which he would be capable, could he secure a good Leader.  But Peetka, although he looked at his empty pipe with bitterness, shook his head.