Roy Norton

“ It lingered over a sheaf of fish spears, bows and arrows hanging on pegs on one side, rifles and cartridge belts on the other, a pair of mukluks on the floor, an alarm clock on the shelf, and phonograph on a table.
“Many nights we wait to start. Many times start. Always white mans, hungry for gold, watch and start when we start. ”

“ One time, when I take sleds, go long way, many, many sleeps, whole moons—place call Kadiak. Great village mos' as big as Juneau. Go there, too, same as Juneau, buy theengs for lady—buy good knives, needles, rifles what you call—ummh!—cloths make clothes, kettles, teapot, all sort theengs. And I see man who catchum bugs, butterfly, takeum stickum on paper with pins. Heaps. Catchum plenty. But thees man say no care for gold. I think mebbe tell lie to find out where I ketchum gold what pay for theengs bring here. I think him not such fool as other white mans who ask many questions. ”

“ Mebbe some white mans no want gold. Mebbe bug man like better——” and then his voice mumbled away in diminuendo to silence.
“How do you know he wasn't one of the white men who followed?” I demanded.
His attention was scarcely distracted from the captivation of carving that crude bone disk into a lasting depiction of animal form when he explained, without bothering himself to look up.
“Oh, me know! Tell other umiaks go ahead to land. Make my umiak mans turn back. Row hard. Row fast. White mans in boat wait. Wait long time. Then think best better turn and go home—back to Kadiak. ”

“ I insisted. “I have known many who cared more for other things. I know one man who learns much about trees, grass, moss. Another who is an entomologist, who——”
“What that mean?” he demanded sharply. “Anty—antyologis—what——”
“A man who gathers and saves bugs, flies, mosquitoes—maybe birds,” I explained lamely, trying to make him comprehend. ”