Johnny bent over the man and twisted his head about.  No, his neck was not broken.  Johnny was thankful for that.  He hated to see dead people even when they richly deserved to die.

Then he turned to the knife.  He started again, as he extricated the hilt from the snow.  But there was no time for examining it.  His ear caught a stifled cry, a woman’s cry.  It came, without a doubt, from the igloo of his fellow traveler, the woman.  Hastily thrusting his knife in his belt, he threw back the tentflap and crossed the intervening snowpatch in three strides.

He threw back the canvas just in time to seize a second native by the hood of his deer skin parka.  He whirled the man completely about, tossed him high in the air, then struck him as he was coming down; struck him in the same place he had hit the other, only harder, very much harder.  He did not examine him later for a broken neck, either.

Turning, Johnny saw the woman staring at him.  Evidently she had slept in her furs.  As she stood there now, she seemed quite equal to the task of caring for herself.  There was a muscular sturdiness about her which Johnny had failed to notice before.  In her hand gleamed a wicked looking dagger with a twisted blade.

But that she had been caught unawares, there could be no question, and from the kindly flash in her eyes Johnny read the fact that she was grateful for her deliverance.

He threw one glance at the other igloos.  Standing there casting dark, purple shadows, they were strangely silent.  Apparently these two murderers had been appointed to accomplish the task alone.  The others were asleep.  For this Johnny was thankful.

Turning to the woman he said sharply: 

“Gotta git outa here.  You, me, savvy?”

“Savvy,” she replied placidly.

Seizing her fur bag of small belongings, Johnny hastened before her to where the sled deer were tethered.  Two sleds were still loaded, one with an unused igloo and deerskins, the other with food.  To each of these Johnny hastily harnessed a reindeer.  Then whipping out his knife, he cut the tether of all the other deer.  They would follow; it was the way of reindeer.

Johnny smiled.  These extra deer would spell the others and quicken travel.  In case of need, they could be killed for food.  Besides, if they had no deer, the treacherous natives could not follow.  They would be obliged to return to the Russian town they had left and make a new start, and by that time—­Johnny patted his chest where reposed the bill with the Alaskan stamp on it, and murmured: 

“Stay with me li’l’ ol’ one-spot, and I’ll take you home.”

He cast one more glance toward the igloos.  Not a soul had stirred.

“We’re off,” he exclaimed, leaping on his sled and slapping his reindeer on the thigh with the jerkstrap.

“Yes,” the Jap girl smiled as she followed his example.

Johnny thought they were “off,” but it took only an instant to tell that they were not.  His deer cut a circle and sent him gliding away over the snows.  Fortunately he held to his jerkstrap and at last succeeded in stopping the animal’s mad rush.