d hardly say, was figurative, brief,
and easily read. It did not give the intelligent father much trouble in
the decipherment. At the top was the picture of a hand fairly, if not
elegantly, drawn, with one finger pointing. Below it were several
figures, the last of which was a girl in unmistakable Indian costume.
The figure in front of her was meant to represent Cheenbuk; in advance
of him was an Eskimo woman with her tail flowing gracefully behind,
while before her was a hazy group of men, women, and children, which
represented the tribe on the march. Adolay had obviously the artistic
gift in embryo, for there was a decided effort to indicate form and
motion, as well as to suggest an idea of perspective, for the woman and
the tribal group were drawn much smaller than the foreground figures,
and were placed on higher planes. The sketchiness of the group, too,
also told of just ideas as to relative degrees of interest in the
legend, while the undue prominence of the leading facial feature was an
attempt to give that advice which is so forcibly expressed in the
well-known phrase, "Follow your nose." Ten dots underneath, with a
group of snow-huts at the end of them, were not so clear at first, but
in the end Nazinred made out a sentence, of which the following may be
given as a free-and-easy translation:

"My hand points the direction in which we have gone. Your loving
daughter is following the man who ran away with her. The Eskimo women
and men, and dogs, and all the rest of them, are marching before us.
Follow me for ten days, and you will come to the snow-huts where we are
to winter."

Could anything be plainer? The happy father thought not. He took an
extra meal. His team gave themselves an extra feed of bits of old
blubber picked up in the camp, and while daylight was still engaged in
its brave though hopeless struggle with the Arctic night, he tied up his
sledge, thrust the old moccasin into his bosom, gave Attim the order to
advance, and set off with revived strength and hope on his now hopeful
journey.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A SURPRISE AND A CATASTROPHE.

The trail of the Eskimos as they traversed the frozen sea, although not
always very distinct on the hard snow, was as plain as a highway to one
so skilled in tracking as the Indian chief Nazinred. The weather having
been clear and calm ever since he left home, the marks had not been
obliterated, and he pursued his way without halt or hesitation.