There was a native village on this island where he hoped to find food and rest and, perhaps, some news of the Russian and Hanada.  He located the village at last on a southern slope.  This village, as he knew, consisted of igloos of rock.  Only poles protruding from the rocks told him of its location.

As he climbed the path to the slope he was surprised to be greeted only by women and children.  They seemed particularly unkempt and dirty.  At last, at the crest of the hill, he came upon a strange picture.  A young native woman tastily dressed was standing before her house, puffing a turkish cigaret.  She was a half-breed of the Spanish type, and Johnny could imagine that some Spanish buccaneer, pausing at this desolate island to hide his gold, had become her father.

She asked him into an igloo and made tea for him, talking all the while in broken English.  She had learned the language, she told him, from the whalers.  She spoke cheerfully and answered his questions frankly.  Yes, his two friends had been here.  They had gone, perhaps; she did not know.  Yes, he might cross to Cape Prince of Wales in safety she thought.  But Johnny had the feeling that her mind was filled with the dread of some impending catastrophe which perhaps he might help avert.

And at last the revelation came.  Lighting a fresh cigaret, she leaned back among the deer skins and spoke.  “The men of the village,” she said, “you have not asked me about them.”

“Thought they were hunting,” replied Johnny.

“Hunting, no!” she exclaimed.  “Boiling hooch.”

Johnny knew in a moment what she meant.  “Hooch” was whisky, moonshine.  Many times he had heard of this vicious liquor which the Eskimos and Chukches concocted by boiling sourdough, made of molasses, flour and yeast.

The girl told him frankly of the many carouses that had taken place during the winter, of the deaths that had resulted from it, of the shooting of her only brother by a drink-crazed native.

Johnny listened in silence.  That she told it all without apparent emotion did not deceive him.  Hooch was being brewed now.  She wished it destroyed.  This was the last brew, for no more molasses and flour remained in the village.  This last drunken madness would be the most terrible of all.  She told him finally of the igloo where all the men had gathered.

Johnny pondered a while in silence.  He was forever taking over the troubles of others.  How could he help this girl, and save himself from harm?  What could he do anyway?  One could not steal four gallons of liquor before thirty or forty pairs of eyes.

Suddenly, an idea came to him.  Begging a cigaret from the native beauty, he lighted it and gave it three puffs.  No, Johnny did not smoke.  He was merely experimenting.  He wanted to see if it would make him sick.  Three puffs didn’t, so having begged another “pill” and two matches he left the room saying: