withering away of the limbs. And then the birth of strange, mutated children—some more like fish than humans. The mutants were buried alive in the snows near the sacred mountains. Hunting was bad, and the village was starving by spring.
“All the land grew dry, withered, deserted. The lakes had no boats on them in the spring; the rivers and creeks had no canoes in them. No red-coated moose hunters came through our town asking for guides. It is told that one of our young men took a sleigh to find out what had happened. He set off to Nome, Alaska. When he came back, he was all sickly and spotted. He died—but not before telling my people that instead of a white man’s city, there was only a great circular ice lake, with the scattered burned bones of tens of thousands lining its shores.
“So my people stayed in this area. Our medicine men—we call them Nyqwit —told us not to wander, for the rest of the world had been poisoned by a Great Evil War.
“So,” Tinglim continued, as Rock listened fascinated, “we stayed in this area and hunted as best we could and found leaves and berries to supplement our meager larders.
“My people were alone, cut off from the outside world, reduced to a few dozen families.
“Forsaking the old ways, and the Nyqwit advice, in a desperate search for food, we headed south, where the game was more plentiful. And came upon this unspoiled area. Here we thrived. Alone, for seventy or eighty years. Finally, others came. We have traded with other Eskimos and Indian tribes for the last thirty years. Our people grew so numerous that we split up—we the Nara Clan stayed in this area, near the ocean and fish. Others went into the forbidding Sasquatch Woods, and beyond it, built the Ice City.”
“What’s the Sasquatch Woods?” Rock asked.
“The Sasquatch, I believe, is what your people once called the ‘Big Foot’—great hairy beasts with the strength of twenty men. Olmo may have been the offspring of human and Sasquatch parents. Although they have few weapons, except the huge rocks they throw—and they can throw enormous boulders—they have taken over all the land north of the Sasquatch River. They do not cross it, however. They fear deep water. At this time of year, they usually hibernate in caves.”
Rock could hardly believe all he was hearing, but he would soon find out. He decided that the Eskimos were great storytellers and that Tinglim was one of the best. But it was time for practical matters, not tall tales.
“I’m going to need supplies,” Rock said, looking the Eskimo chief squarely in the eye.
“Whatever we have is yours—for a price,” Tinglim replied, giving a coy look. The Nara leader took a long, slow sip of the hot buttered tea and then said, “I will sell you one sled with a husky team thrown in, for, say—one of your rifles and two hundred rounds of ammunition.”
“I’ll give you four rifles,” Rock replied, “and a hundred rounds each, but I want eight sleds and dogs—one for each of my men. I’d like to leave here in eight hours.”
“Ah,” said Tinglim, “are you in a rush? If you are in a rush we can jack up the price. Are you in a big rush?”
Rock’s mind raced for a second, “Well, not a big rush . . .”
“That’s more like it,” said Tinglim. “Tell you what. We send for your big arrow-shooting friend. He can bring some samples of your trading goods, particularly your skis-of-metal and your rifles, here. And I want to see some of your clever objects, like that compass you carry on your belt. Maybe I can make a counter-offer.”
Tinglim slapped his hands together. A very pretty Eskimo maiden, whom he introduced as Wiglim, came in with hot tea and some odd buns—lichen bread—on a tray. Tinglim instructed the girl to find Archer and tell him to bring all he could carry that might be a sample of what Rockson had to trade. Rock started to wish he had allowed Tinglim to consider him a god. It could become a costly mistake not
“All the land grew dry, withered, deserted. The lakes had no boats on them in the spring; the rivers and creeks had no canoes in them. No red-coated moose hunters came through our town asking for guides. It is told that one of our young men took a sleigh to find out what had happened. He set off to Nome, Alaska. When he came back, he was all sickly and spotted. He died—but not before telling my people that instead of a white man’s city, there was only a great circular ice lake, with the scattered burned bones of tens of thousands lining its shores.
“So my people stayed in this area. Our medicine men—we call them Nyqwit —told us not to wander, for the rest of the world had been poisoned by a Great Evil War.
“So,” Tinglim continued, as Rock listened fascinated, “we stayed in this area and hunted as best we could and found leaves and berries to supplement our meager larders.
“My people were alone, cut off from the outside world, reduced to a few dozen families.
“Forsaking the old ways, and the Nyqwit advice, in a desperate search for food, we headed south, where the game was more plentiful. And came upon this unspoiled area. Here we thrived. Alone, for seventy or eighty years. Finally, others came. We have traded with other Eskimos and Indian tribes for the last thirty years. Our people grew so numerous that we split up—we the Nara Clan stayed in this area, near the ocean and fish. Others went into the forbidding Sasquatch Woods, and beyond it, built the Ice City.”
“What’s the Sasquatch Woods?” Rock asked.
“The Sasquatch, I believe, is what your people once called the ‘Big Foot’—great hairy beasts with the strength of twenty men. Olmo may have been the offspring of human and Sasquatch parents. Although they have few weapons, except the huge rocks they throw—and they can throw enormous boulders—they have taken over all the land north of the Sasquatch River. They do not cross it, however. They fear deep water. At this time of year, they usually hibernate in caves.”
Rock could hardly believe all he was hearing, but he would soon find out. He decided that the Eskimos were great storytellers and that Tinglim was one of the best. But it was time for practical matters, not tall tales.
“I’m going to need supplies,” Rock said, looking the Eskimo chief squarely in the eye.
“Whatever we have is yours—for a price,” Tinglim replied, giving a coy look. The Nara leader took a long, slow sip of the hot buttered tea and then said, “I will sell you one sled with a husky team thrown in, for, say—one of your rifles and two hundred rounds of ammunition.”
“I’ll give you four rifles,” Rock replied, “and a hundred rounds each, but I want eight sleds and dogs—one for each of my men. I’d like to leave here in eight hours.”
“Ah,” said Tinglim, “are you in a rush? If you are in a rush we can jack up the price. Are you in a big rush?”
Rock’s mind raced for a second, “Well, not a big rush . . .”
“That’s more like it,” said Tinglim. “Tell you what. We send for your big arrow-shooting friend. He can bring some samples of your trading goods, particularly your skis-of-metal and your rifles, here. And I want to see some of your clever objects, like that compass you carry on your belt. Maybe I can make a counter-offer.”
Tinglim slapped his hands together. A very pretty Eskimo maiden, whom he introduced as Wiglim, came in with hot tea and some odd buns—lichen bread—on a tray. Tinglim instructed the girl to find Archer and tell him to bring all he could carry that might be a sample of what Rockson had to trade. Rock started to wish he had allowed Tinglim to consider him a god. It could become a costly mistake not
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