t here was one
among all these strangers whom he could trust implicitly. And Hanada
would make a capital companion with whom he might cross the thirty-five
miles of drifting, piling ice which still lay between him and America.
It was the contemplation of these realities which at last led him to the
land of dreams.

CHAPTER IX

JOHNNY'S FREE-FOR-ALL

Johnny smiled as he sat before his igloo. Two signs of spring pleased
him. Some tiny icicles had formed on the cliff above him, telling of the
first thaw. An aged Chukche, toothless, and blind, had unwrapped his
long-stemmed pipe to smoke in the sunshine.

Johnny had seen the old man before and liked him. He was cheerful and
interesting to talk to.

"See that old man there?" he asked Hanada, whom he still called Iyok-ok
when speaking to him. "Communism isn't so bad for him after all."

Hanada squinted at him curiously without speaking.

"Of course, you know," said Johnny, "what these people have here is the
communal form of government, or the tribal form. Everything belongs to
the tribe. They own it in common. If I kill a white bear, a walrus or a
reindeer, it doesn't all go in my storehouse. I pass it round. It goes
to the tribe. So does every other form of wealth they have. Nothing
belongs to anyone. Everything belongs to everybody. So, when my old
friend gets too old to hunt, fish or mend nets, he basks in the sun and
needn't worry about anything at all. Pretty soft. Perhaps our friend the
Russian is not so far wrong after all if he's a communist."

"Uh-hu," the Jap grunted; then he exclaimed, "That reminds me,
Terogloona, the Chukche who lives three doors from here, asked me to
tell you to stay out of his igloo this afternoon."

"Why?"

The Jap merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I have a way of doing what I am told not to, you should--" Johnny was
about to say, "you should know that," but checked himself in time.

"Better not go," warned Hanada as he turned away.

After an early noon lunch Johnny strolled up the hill top. He wanted to
get a view of the Strait. On particularly clear days, Cape Prince of
Wales on the American side of Behring Strait can be seen from East Cape
in Siberia. This day was clear, and, as Johnny climbed, he saw more and
more of the peak as it lay across the Strait, above the white ice floes.

With trembling fingers he drew a one dollar bill from his pocket and
spread it on his knee.

"There it is," he whispered. "There's t