Meanwhile, Harry was very busy outside, and somewhat worried. The entire population of the hamlet seemed bent on investigating him thoroughly. They made derisive remarks about his clothing, and tried to put their hands in his pockets, which they seemed to admit to one another were good things to have. One man took off his hat and started to put it on his own head, amid laughter from his comrades. He seemed to resent it when Harry snatched it away, and touched his knife significantly. But when one attempted to relieve him of his watch and chain he was forced to draw back hastily, for Harry felt that the limit of patience was about reached, and cocked and pointed his rifle threateningly. The others seemed to enjoy the hurried retreat of this man, and to deride him for cowardice. However, the men kept out of arm’s reach after this. Not so the women and children. Their attentions were not only to himself, but to the sled; and he soon saw that under their carelessness was a systematic attempt to cast off the lashings and get at the goods there. During all this annoyance he happened to think of his camera, and decided that at least he could get a picture or two to counterbalance the trouble. So, unslinging it from his back, he slipped the little instrument from its case, drew out the bellows to the universal focus, and proceeded to point it at the most picturesque of the insolent group. The effect was magical. They tumbled backward from the machine with alarm. When they saw the flick of the shutter as he pressed the button, they threw their hands before their eyes and retreated, repeating a word which he did not understand, but which he learned later meant “magic.” This amused Harry greatly, and afterward he had only to point the camera to widen the circle about him; and to take a new picture was to send arms flying to the faces that were in range. They seemed to think something would come from it to injure their eyesight. They resented this threat, however, and there were black looks on the ugly faces of the men when the mate and the head deerman appeared from the topek followed by the others. The bargain had been satisfactorily concluded, and the deermen went off to drive in the purchased reindeer, while Jones and his lieutenants took the goods from the sled. The crowd of fur-clad Chow Chuen stood about, but kept a respectful distance from the camera. But when the half-dozen deer were driven up, there were fresh complications. Mr. Jones was about to slaughter them at once, and had passed the goods over to the head deerman, when a great outcry arose. The deermen flocked about the Eskimo, and seemed to demand that he tell the whites something, which he did. “No kill. No kill,” cried the Eskimo in much alarm; “Chow Chuen kill.” “Well, tell them to go ahead and do it, then,” roared Mr. Jones, so angry that he was fluent. “It’s nightfall now, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us.”