"Now, from here," panted Iyok-ok. "Your automatic. Shoot over their
heads. They will stop. I will tell them. They will not kill him."

Johnny's hand went to his automatic, but there it rested. These natives?
What did he have against them that he should interrupt them in the
chase? And this Russian, what claim did he have on him that he should
save his life? None, the answer was plain. And yet, here was this boy,
to whom he had grown strangely attached, begging him to help save the
Russian. A strange state of affairs, for sure.

Toward them, as he ran, the Russian turned a white, appealing face. To
them came ever louder and more appalling the cry of the excited natives.
Now an arrow fell three feet short of its mark. And now, a stronger arm
sent one three yards beyond the man, but a foot to one side. The whole
scene, set as it was in the purple shadows and yellow lights of the
north-land, was fascinating.

But the time had come to act.

"Well, then," Johnny grunted, whipping out his automatic, "for your sake
I'll do it."

Three times the automatic barked its vicious challenge. The mob paused
and waited silently.

Out of this silence there came a voice. It was the voice of Iyok-ok by
Johnny's side. Through cupped hands, he was speaking calmly to the
natives. His words were a jumble of Eskimo, Chukche and pidgen-English,
but Johnny knew they understood, for, as the speech went on, he saw