“Nice curio, Chris,” I commented, handing the thing back to him. “Heirloom, no doubt. Picked it up in one of the Indian villages, eh?” He did not speak at once. He sat puffing, looking at the fire. Once he puckered his brows in a deep frown. I waited. “I’ve been prospecting, as usual,” he said at length. “Down there around the headquarters of the Tukuvuk. It’s an awful place; nobody ever goes there. The Indians tell me the spirits of the dead live there. I can believe it; it’s an ideal place for imps and devils. An…
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