Each boy carried a rifle and was well supplied with cartridges, while Harry had in addition a small camera slung over his shoulder by a strap. The boys were in high glee at the outing, after the long confinement aboard ship, and rollicked along well ahead of the others. Yet their progress was slow, the way winding, and it was lunch time and yet they had not reached the upland valley, where the camp of the deermen was said to be. A few dry twigs of willow—the only growth of wood, and this in the main creeping vine fashion, and rising only to a height of two or three feet—were found to feed a fire, and a pot of tea was boiled. Then after the men had taken a hasty smoke, the journey was resumed. It was mid-afternoon when they seemed to be reaching the summit of a low divide. The six miles had stretched into a dozen, and there was no sign of human life among the hills, only the beaten trail leading steadily on over the snow. The mate had seemed anxious for an hour or so, and had swung into the lead along with the boys. “Home pretty soon,” he said, wasting no words; “most far enough.” A moment after, they rounded a ledge of broken basaltic rock, and looked down upon a scene of pastoral life such as only the extreme north of Asia can show. A brown and sheltered valley wound among the rude hills. It was bare of snow in the main, and the golden brown moss, with which it was carpeted, showed green with grasses already springing in it. In scattered groups about this grazed several hundred reindeer, many brown in color, some piebald, the old ones bearing branching antlers, the fawns spotted, and gamboling like any young deer. Here and there, fur-clad herders watched them, and there was a little group of large skin topeks at one side of the valley not far off, the homes of the herders and their families. Thither they turned, the coast native taking the lead now. They were near the little hut hamlet before any one took notice of them, when a man suddenly appeared with a rifle in his hands. He was taller than the coast native, and seemed more robust. He fearlessly pointed the rifle at the approaching party. “Way enough!” shouted Mr. Jones. “Hold water!” At a wave of his hand the Eskimo went ahead resolutely, his hands held up palm forward as a sign of peace, and shouting, “Nagouruk! Nagouruk!”