But the time had come to act.

“Well, then,” Johnny grunted, whipping out his automatic, “for your sake I’ll do it.”

Three times the automatic barked its vicious challenge.  The mob paused and waited silently.

Out of this silence there came a voice.  It was the voice of Iyok-ok by Johnny’s side.  Through cupped hands, he was speaking calmly to the natives.  His words were a jumble of Eskimo, Chukche and pidgen-English, but Johnny knew they understood, for, as the speech went on, he saw them drop their weapons, then one by one pick them up again to go shuffling away.

Johnny looked about for the Russian.  He had disappeared.

“Now what did you do that for?” he asked his companion.

“Can’t tell now,” Iyok-ok answered slowly.  “Sometime, mebbe.  Not now.  Azeezruk nucky, that’s all.”

He paused and looked away at the hills; then turning, extended his hand. 
“Anyway, I thank you very, very much I thank you.”

With that they made their way toward the village and the sea, which, packed and glistening with ice, reflected all the glories of the gorgeous Arctic sunset.

Three hours later Iyok-ok put his head in at Johnny’s igloo and said: 

“One hour go.”

“North?” asked Johnny.

“North.”

“You go?”

“Eh-eh.”

“Jap girl go?”

“Eh-eh.”

“East Cape?  Behring Strait?”

“Mebbe.”  With a smile, the boy was gone.

“Evidently the Russian is on the move again,” Johnny observed to himself.  “Wonder what he intends to do about his diamonds?  Well, anyway, that proves that the gold mines are not his goal.”

As Johnny dug into his pack for a dry pair of deer skin stocks, he discovered that his belongings had been tampered with.

“The Russian,” he decided, “evidently hasn’t forgotten his diamonds.”

CHAPTER VIII

WHEN AN ESKIMO BECOMES A JAP

Johnny Thompson smiled as he drew on a pair of rabbit skin trousers, then a parka made of striped ground squirrel skin, finished with a hood of wolf skin.  It was not his own suit; it had been borrowed from his host, a husky young hunter of East Cape.  But that was not his reason for smiling.  He was amused at the thought of the preposterous misunderstanding which his traveling companions had concerning him.

Only the day before he had exclaimed: 

“Iyok-ok, I believe I have guessed why the Russian wants to kill me.”

“Why?”

“He thinks I am a member of the United States Secret Service.”

“Well?  Canak-ti-ma-na” (I don’t know).

The boy had looked him squarely in the eye as much as to say, “Who could doubt that?”

At first Johnny had been inclined to assure Iyok-ok that there was no truth in the assumption, but the more he thought of it, the better he was satisfied with things as they were.  His companions carried with them a great air of mystery; why should he not share this a little with them?  He had let the matter drop.