"Eh-eh."

"East Cape? Behring Strait?"

"Mebbe." With a smile, the boy was gone.

"Evidently the Russian is on the move again," Johnny observed to
himself. "Wonder what he intends to do about his diamonds? Well, anyway,
that proves that the gold mines are not his goal."

As Johnny dug into his pack for a dry pair of deer skin stocks, he
discovered that his belongings had been tampered with.

"The Russian," he decided, "evidently hasn't forgotten his diamonds."




CHAPTER VIII

WHEN AN ESKIMO BECOMES A JAP


Johnny Thompson smiled as he drew on a pair of rabbit skin trousers,
then a parka made of striped ground squirrel skin, finished with a hood
of wolf skin. It was not his own suit; it had been borrowed from his
host, a husky young hunter of East Cape. But that was not his reason for
smiling. He was amused at the thought of the preposterous
misunderstanding which his traveling companions had concerning him.