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the stony beach and among the sparse, ragged timber many Esquimaux women were working: cutting deer flesh into long strips; pounding them flat, and hanging them over the poles that ran between forked sticks in the sun. Others were scraping the skins and stretching them on frames. On the left some men were making a kyak; sewing the skin across the ribs of the boat with the leg-tendons of the caribou. There were many dogs; fat and healthy-looking; and the brown smoked skin tepees seemed whole and prosperous. Tempest glanced side-ways at Dick. He knew the man's powers of deduction too well to doubt him.

"Where?" he asked.

"Slinking into one of those tepees. Can I go after him?"

There was an eager, almost wolf-like note in face and voice. Tempest recoiled from it, thinking of Ducane's wife. He looked up at the chief of the camp who was talking to Myers in surprisingly effective English.

"You have a white man here?" he said.

The Esquimaux nodded and smiled.

"Oh, so. Him Sleepy-face. Me Good-night." He patted his broad breast. "Dat my wife mak' deer-meat 'crost dere. She Sunshine. Dat Sleepy-face wife too be'ind. She sweetSweet [sic] Muffin."

Dick turned to look at Sweet Muffin. She sat on the ground beside a great hunch of the deer-meat with her fur-wrapped legs under her and the loose fur skirt tucked up round her fat, swathed body. She was chewing a bit of the meat as she worked, and her bright eyes glanced in her flat, greasy face. Swiftly she cut off slice after slice, and flung it to the next woman who pounded it out on a stone. Then they laughed together; musically, happily. Dick unfolded his legs and stood up in his canoe.