Part 29 (1/2)

”'Boys,' he said in a quavering voice, 'this ain't just one man, it's the whole United States.'”

CHAPTER VIII

THE BELCHING DEATH OF A VOLCANO

The whaler's story of the great Overland Expedition set Eric questioning about the work of the Coast Guard with the reindeer. He learned that, partly as a result of his handling of the trip, the government had selected Lieutenant Bertholf to make an exploration of northern Siberia for the purpose of importing Tunguse reindeer, which were reported to be bigger and better fitted for Alaska than the Lapp reindeer. He found out how over 200 head of the larger species had been successfully imported, and a couple of days later had a very vivid demonstration of the fact in seeing an Eskimo trot by, riding a Tunguse reindeer like a saddle horse.

The more the boy saw of the Eskimo, too, the more he learned to value their race strength. It was true that they were dirty and that their houses smelt horribly. But, after all, Eric reasoned, it is a little hard to keep the habit of baths in a country where, during six months in the year, a man would freeze solid in a bath like a fly in a piece of amber. The Eskimo's indifference to smells, moreover, he learned to understand one day, quite suddenly. He was pacing up and down the deck with the whaler a day or two before the _Bear_ reached Point Barrow.

”You're always worryin' over those smells,” Joey had said to him.

”You've lived in a city, haven't you?”

”Nearly all my life,” the boy replied.

”Have you ever been in a city what wasn't noisy with street cars, an'

wagons, an' automobile horns, an' children playing, an' music-boxes an'

pianos goin' an' all the rest of it?”

”It is noisy,” Eric admitted, ”but you soon get used to that.”

”Hearin' is just one o' the five senses, ain't it?”

”Yes.”

”An' smellin' is another?”

”Of course.”

”Well, an Eskimo's nose gets to be like a city man's ear, one smells all the time an' doesn't notice it, the other hears all the while an'

doesn't care. You can't judge a people by its smell. An' when it comes to fair dealin', you won't find anywhere a squarer people to deal with than the Eskimo. You're Commissioner, ain't you?”

”Yes,” the boy answered.

”An' you haven't found much crime, have you, eh?”

”Mighty little,” he admitted.

”It's the same every year. They're a fine race, the Eskimo. I'll tell you just one little thing about 'em, that I don't think could be said of any other native race in the whole world.”

”What's that?” the boy asked.

”You know,” the whaler said, ”how natives go to pieces when civilization hits 'em.”

”Generally.”