some
impending catastrophe which perhaps he might help avert.

And at last the revelation came. Lighting a fresh cigaret, she leaned
back among the deer skins and spoke. "The men of the village," she said,
"you have not asked me about them."

"Thought they were hunting," replied Johnny.

"Hunting, no!" she exclaimed. "Boiling hooch."

Johnny knew in a moment what she meant. "Hooch" was whisky, moonshine.
Many times he had heard of this vicious liquor which the Eskimos and
Chukches concocted by boiling sourdough, made of molasses, flour and
yeast.

The girl told him frankly of the many carouses that had taken place
during the winter, of the deaths that had resulted from it, of the
shooting of her only brother by a drink-crazed native.

Johnny listened in silence. That she told it all without apparent
emotion did not deceive him. Hooch was being brewed now. She wished it
destroyed. This was the last brew, for no more molasses and flour
remained in the village. This last drunken madness would be the most
terrible of all. She told him finally of the igloo where all the men had
gathered.

Johnny pondered a while in silence. He was forever taking over the
troubles of others. How could he help this girl, and save himself from
harm? What could he do anyway? One could not steal four gallons of
liquor before thirty or forty pairs of eyes.

Suddenly, an idea came to him. Begging a cigaret from the native beauty,
he lighted it and gave it three puffs. No, Johnny did not smoke. He was
merely experimenting. He wanted to see if it would make him sick. Three
puffs didn't, so having begged another "pill" and two matches he left
the room saying:

"I'll take a look."

* * * * *

When the Jap girl leaped through the smoke hole of the igloo at East
Cape she rolled like a purple ball off the roof. Jumping to her feet she
darted down the row of igloos. Pausing for a dash into an igloo, she
emerged a moment later bearing under one arm a pile of fur garments and
under the other some native hunting implements. Then she made a dash for
the shore ice.

It was at this juncture that the first Chukche emerged from the large
igloo. At his heels roared the whole gang. Like a pack of bloodthirsty
hounds, they strove each one to keep first place in the race. Their
grimy hands itched for a touch of that flying girlish figure.

Though she was a good quarter mile in the lead she was hampered by the
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