had come?  Like that—­with no dogs?  What!  From below Koserefsky?  Not really?  Peetka grunted and shook his head.  Did they think the Ingaliks were children?  Without dogs that journey was impossible.  Low whispers and gruff exclamations filled the room.  White men were great liars.  They pretended that in their country the bacon had legs, and could run about, and one had been heard to say he had travelled in a thing like a steamboat, only it could go without water under it—­ran over the dry land on strips of iron—­ran quicker than any steamer!  Oh, they were awful liars.  But these two, who pretended they’d dragged a sled all the way from Holy Cross, they were the biggest liars of all.  Just let them tell that yarn to Unookuk.  They all laughed at this, and the name ran round the room.

“Who is Unookuk?”

“Him guide.”

“Him know.”

“Where is him?” asked the Boy.

“Him sick.”

But there was whispering and consultation.  This was evidently a case for the expert.  Two boys ran out, and the native talk went on, unintelligible save for the fact that it centred round Unookuk.  In a few minutes the boys came back with a tall, fine-looking native, about sixty years old, walking lame, and leaning on a stick.  The semicircle opened to admit him.  He limped over to the strangers, and stood looking at them gravely, modestly, but with careful scrutiny.

The Boy held out his hand.

“How do you do?”

“How do you do?” echoed the new-comer, and he also shook hands with the Colonel before he sat down.

“Are you Unookuk?”

“Yes.  How far you come?”

Peetka said something rude, before the strangers had time to answer, and all the room went into titters.  But Unookuk listened with dignity while the Colonel repeated briefly the story already told.  Plainly it stumped Unookuk.

“Come from Anvik?” he repeated.

“Yes; stayed with Mr. Benham.”

“Oh, Benham!” The trader’s familiar name ran round the room with obvious effect.  “It is good to have A. C. Agent for friend,” said Unookuk guardedly.  “Everybody know Benham.”

“He is not A. C. Agent much longer,” volunteered the Boy.

“That so?”

“No; he will go ‘on his own’ after the new agent gets in this spring.”

“It is true,” answered Unookuk gravely, for the first time a little impressed, for this news was not yet common property.  Still, they could have heard it from some passer with a dog-team.  The Boy spoke of Holy Cross, and Unookuk’s grave unbelief was painted on every feature.

“It was good you get to Holy Cross before the big storm,” he said, with a faint smile of tolerance for the white man’s tall story.  But Peetka laughed aloud.

“What good English you speak!” said the Boy, determined to make friends with the most intelligent-appearing native he had seen.

“Me; I am Kurilla!” said Unookuk, with a quiet magnificence.  Then, seeing no electric recognition of the name, he added:  “You savvy Kurilla!”