"Sure we're gettin' handy t' th' coast!" he exclaimed.
They would soon find white men, he was sure. The track led them on for
a mile or so, and then they heard a dog's howl and a moment later came
out upon two snow igloos. Eskimo men, women, and children emerged on
their hands and knees from the low, snow-tunnel entrance of the igloos
at their approach, but when they saw that the travellers were a party
of Indians, gave no invitation to them to enter, and said nothing
until Bob called "Oksunie" to them--a word of greeting that he had
learned from the Bay folk. Then they called to him "Oksunie, oksunie,"
and began to talk amongst themselves.
"They're rare wild lookin' huskies," thought Bob.
As much as Bob would have liked to stop, he did not do so, for the
Indians stalked past at a rapid pace, never by word or look showing
that they had seen the igloos or the Eskimos.
These new people, particularly the women, who wore trousers and
carried babies in large hoods hanging on their backs, did not dress
like any Eskimos that Bob had ever seen before. Nor had he ever before
seen the snow houses, though he had heard of them and knew what they
were. The dogs, too, were large, and more like wolves in appearance
than those the Bay folk used, and the komatik was narrower but much
longer and heavier than those he was accustomed to.
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