tossing his cap in the air and yelling excitedly.
"M'sieus," he shouted, "I have find wan funny mans what makes t'ings of ivory. You come an' see. You lak heem ver' much."
Nothing loth to leave the discussion of their defeat, Stamwell and Cressey followed the exuberant Baptiste for a mile or two along the river to a stoutly timbered cabin beside which an old man watched his supper cooking over a fire outside. At sight of him, Cressey laughed, while Baptiste explained his new acquaintance.
"Hees name ees Jo. He ees half Indian, half Eskimo. An' I savvy hees talk ver' fine."
While Baptiste talked in tribal jargon, Cressey's amusement mounted. The old man was toothless and wrinkled. A beaded band kept the lank hair from obscuring his sight, and as his jaw wagged constantly on a quid of chewing tobacco, two knobbed knucklebones of seals thrust through slits in his cheeks gave the appearance of tusks. Ragged wolf-skin trousers and elk-hide moccasins completed his attire, but he smiled grotesquely as he led the way inside the cabin. There he lighted a wick floating on a dish of oil, threw wide a window-shutter and let in sunlight, which revealed a collection of carved ivory objects on shelves about the walls.
Baptiste was even more eager than the carver to display his skill. He handed Stamwell a figure copied from comic supplements of newspapers and familiar in homes from the arctic circle to the Florida Keys. A moment later he brought forth its mate. Stamwell held in his hands cleverly chiseled likenesses of Mutt and Jeff. Flattered by the interest of these white men, Jo showed them the source of his inspiration, a sheaf of old newspapers from the pages of which he took his ivory models. Baptiste, convulsed with mirth, laid in Cressey's hand a figure which brought a responsive laugh.
"She got bellyache!" he shouted. Even Professor Stamwell chuckled at his description of a lovely little "September Morn."
They spent a good deal of time with the contents of the shelf before Jo took up the oil dish and threw a flickering light on a recumbent figure in the cabin corner. Stamwell went on his knees, and Cressey gasped at the beauty of a woman, carved in ivory, lying as if asleep with one arm under her head and her long hair draped over her shoulder. The figure was almost life-size, and the ivory block showed no seam or joint. Stamwell touched the slender leg with gentle fingers, then looked at Cressey.
"Cressey, this ivory is of different texture from the small figurines. I should say it was fossilized, but where on earth would the old fellow obtain such a huge block of material?"
"And the woman-model!" exclaimed Cressey. "A white woman, undoubtedly. Look at the sensitive nostrils and straight nose, and the rounded cheeks. No Kogmollye or Indian squaw posed for this. The old fellow didn't create her, either. He couldn't. You can see he has only a great skill in imitating and copying. Baptiste, ask Jo where he saw such a woman, asleep."
Baptiste's conversation with the old man occupied some time, and before it ended the big guide was fingering his scapular.
"Jo, he say dees woman froze een ice. He git dees big chunk ivory from ver' beeg land-whale, also froze een ice."
"A land-whale! Cressey, he means a mammoth. We've come across real treasure. Baptiste, tell Jo we would like to see this land-whale."
Baptiste interpreted. The ivory-carver nodded good-naturedly and
