One of the six in uniform was seated alone. He sat alone and talked a great deal to anyone or no one; to his mates, to the passengers in front of him or behind him, to anyone passing up or down the aisle, to the busy Gerda Lindstrom. He spoke with a rather charming Tennessee drawl.

“Nerves,” Thor said to Chris. “The boy’s nervous and probably the tense type that can’t slough off into sleep like those others.”

Bridie, on her way, paused to talk to him, he looked up at her though his gaze flitted and flicked from her to Chris at the rear of the plane or to Gerda forward, he even glanced out of the window from time to time as though fearful of missing something. In three minutes Bridie had his name, age, destination, hopes, plans, background.

“Come on over here, Chris,” she called out, “talk to this boy. I guess he thinks he’s going to a place like Detroit or something, the way he talks.”

“Sh! Bridie!” Chris whispered as she joined Bridie quickly.

Bridie was impervious to shushing. “This young lady has lived in Alaska all her life, born here. Chris, this boy used to be a telephone lineman on a repair gang in Nashville, Tennessee, can you imagine! Sending these thin-blooded Southern boys up here!”

“You’ll love it,” Chris said, too briskly, as Bridie moved away. “You’ll get used to it in no time. There’s hunting and fishing, it’s warmer in July, and—–”

“Yes’m,” he agreed, politely. “I sure like hunting, I sure would like to get me a bear, one of those big white jobs you can th’ow on the floor or nail up on a wall, head and all, they weigh over a thousand pounds—live, that is—the hide would just about cover a good-size room. I sure would like to get me one of those, send it home to my—send it home.”

Gerda Lindstrom’s voice. “Please fasten your seat belts. We are coming into Tocktoo, please keep your seats we are only stopping to take on passengers.”

The giant Tennesseean peered out into the infinite expanse of tundra below. The guileless eyes turned toward Chris. “Ma’am,” he said, softly, “can you tell me what size city this is we’re coming in to?”

They were descending near a huddle of four or five Quonset huts encircled by stupendous mountain peaks that cut off the universe. No roads, no entrance no exit no anything but a haphazard landing strip toward which the plane was tip-toeing gingerly. The plane touched, stopped, its maw opened and swallowed two waiting construction workers; soared again. The construction men carried their precious tool bags. Wordlessly they relaxed on the spring-sprung shabby seats and were asleep almost instantly. Beat beat beat beat sounded the pulse of the plane again as they leveled off and were again on the way to Oogruk. The young Eskimo had pressed the buzzer and Gerda had brought him a red woolen blanket in addition to the one he already had tucked about his knees. He had not taken coffee, she had brought him a glass of milk.