The huddle resolved
itself into a woman, hollow-cheeked and gaunt with sickness and hunger,
two children in slightly better plight, and a little dead baby. There
was no other person in the tent, and it contained no furnishing except
the heap of boughs, rags, and scraps of fur that passed for a bed, and
a broken kettle that lay beside the fire. On the floor were scattered
a few bones picked clean, from which even the marrow had been
extracted; but otherwise there was no vestige of food.
"I believe they are starving to death!" cried Cabot, as he made these
discoveries.
"It certainly looks like it," replied White, who had followed his
friend into the tent. "I wonder what they did with all the provisions
they stole from us."
"Probably they were taken from them in turn to feed those other
Indians. At any rate, they are destitute enough now, and we can't
leave them here to die. Go and bring Yim with the sled as quick as you
can, while I wake up this fire."
"All right," replied White, "only I'm afraid he won't come."
"He must come," said Cabot decisively.
The hatred between Eskimo and Indian is so bitter that it took all
White's powers of persuasion, together with certain threats, to bring
Yim to the tent, but once there even he was sufficiently roused by its
spectacle of suffering to bestir himself most actively.
During the next hour, while the starving, half-frozen Indians were
warmed and fed, the rescuers discussed the situation and what should be
done.
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