



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




"The Walrus Hunters", by R.M. Ballantyne (1825-1894), 1893.

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This book is full of action.  It deals with both a tribe of Red Indians,
of the Dogrib nation, and a tribe of Eskimos.  Normally a certain
animosity existed between these two, but this tale relates how under
certain circumstances, members of these tribes could not only become
close friends, and work together towards a common goal, but also
intermarry.

There is no doubt but that the reader will have a greater knowledge of
the ways and thoughts of the Indian and the Eskimo, and kindly feelings
towards both, after reading this book--an easy task, for it is a good
and absorbing read.

In this little preface we have deliberately used the old-fashioned terms
for the two races, fully aware that they are both inexact, and that
today we would, for instance, use the term Inuit instead of Eskimo.
However, this book was written in 1893, and things were different then.

It has been written of Ballantyne that, in the last years before his
death in 1894, the quality of his work was failing and indeed
repetitive.  Anyone reading this book can see that this is untrue, for
it is one of his very best.  Indeed it is a strange thing that his
earlier books, which were well-promoted upon their publication, should
still be so much more read than his later ones.  While working upon this
edition of "The Walrus Hunters" we found ourselves several times
reflecting upon this strange state of affairs.

Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894.  He was
educated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk with
the Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in Northern
Canada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848.  The letters he
had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods
life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should
construct a book based on these letters.  Three of his most enduring
books were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders",
"Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experiences
with the H.B.C.  In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and
"Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by
Ballantyne.  Having been chided for small mistakes he made in these
books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about.  With
these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for
teenagers.  He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade,
the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph
cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the
life-boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet,
ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing the
lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for
weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived.

He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he
encountered with great care and attention to detail.  His young readers
looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and
1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year,
all very good reading.  The rate of production diminished in the last
ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed.

He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for
very young children under the pseudonym "Comus".

For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what
we would nowadays call "pi".  In part that was the way people wrote in
those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the Red
River Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a little
dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how
they ought to behave, as he felt he had been.

Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages.  These books
formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less
pocket-money.  These books are particularly well-written and researched,
because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for
their money.  They were published as six series, three books in each
series.

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THE WALRUS HUNTERS, A TALE OF LIFE ON THE ARCTIC SHORES OF CANADA, BY
R.M. BALLANTYNE.



CHAPTER ONE.

A ROMANCE OF THE ICE-WORLD.

A SURPRISE, A COMBAT, AND A FEED.

There is a river in America which flows to the north-westward of Great
Bear Lake, and helps to drain that part of the great wilderness into the
Arctic Sea.

It is an insignificant stream compared with such well-known waterways as
the Mackenzie and the Coppermine; nevertheless it is large enough to
entice the white-whale and the seal into its waters every spring, and it
becomes a resting-place for myriads of wild-fowl while on their passage
to and from the breeding-grounds of the Far North.

Greygoose River was the name given to it by the Dogrib Indians who dwelt
in its neighbourhood, and who were wont, every spring and autumn, to
descend its waters nearly to the sea in quest of game.  The Eskimos,
who, coming from the mysterious north, were in the habit of ascending it
a short way during open water in pursuit of their peculiar prey, named
it Whale River.

The Indians and Eskimos did not often meet while on these trips.  They
did not like meeting, because the result was apt to be disastrous.
Besides, the land was wide and the game plentiful enough for both, so
that they were not much tempted to risk a meeting.  Occasionally,
however, meetings and encounters did take place, and sometimes bitter
feuds arose, but the possession of fire-arms by the Indians--who were
supplied by the fur-traders--rendered the Eskimos wary.  Their
headstrong courage, however, induced the red men to keep as much as
possible out of their way.  In short, there was a good deal of the
spirit of "let-be for let-be" between the two at the time of which we
write.

One morning in the spring-time of the year, soon after the floods caused
by the melting snows had swept the ice clean out of Greygoose or Whale
River, a sturdy young Eskimo urged his sharp kayak, or skin-covered
canoe, up the stream in pursuit of a small white-whale.  But the
creature gave him the slip, so that, after an energetic chase, he turned
his light vessel towards the left bank of the stream, intending to land.

Cheenbuk, for such was his name, was one of those sedate beings whose
energies run calm and deep, like a mighty river.  This feelings,
whatever they might be, did not usually cause much agitation on the
surface.  Disappointment did not visibly depress, nor did success unduly
elate him.  The loss of the whale failed to disturb the placid look of
grave contentment which sat on his good-looking countenance.

For it must be noted here that Cheenbuk was a handsome savage--if,
indeed, we are entitled to style him a savage at all.  His features were
good, and strongly marked.  His young beard and moustache were black,
though not bushy.  His dark eyes were large and full of tenderness,
which expression, by an almost imperceptible raising of eyelid and
contraction of brow, was easily transmuted into a gaze of ferocity or
indignation.  His bulky frame was clothed in the seal-skin garb peculiar
to his people; his hair was straight, voluminous, and unkempt, and his
motions gave indication of great strength combined with agility.

And no wonder, for a large part of our young Eskimo's life had been
spent in battling with the forces of Nature, and the hardships of life
as displayed in the Arctic regions--to say nothing of frequent conflicts
with the seal, the walrus and the polar bear.

Running his kayak among the rushes of a small inlet, Cheenbuk stepped
out of the hole in its centre into the stream.  The water was
ankle-deep, but the youth suffered no discomfort, for he wore what may
be styled home-made waterproof boots reaching to above the knees.  These
had been invented by his forefathers, no doubt, in the remote ages of
antiquity--at all events, long before india-rubber had been discovered
or Macintosh was born.

Drawing his little craft out of the water, the young man took some food
from its interior, and was about to begin his truly simple meal by
eating it raw, when a distant sound arrested his hand on the way to his
mouth.  He turned his head slightly on one side and remained for some
moments like a singularly attentive statue.

Presently the voice of a wild-goose was faintly heard in the far
distance.  Evidently the young Eskimo desired a change of fare, for he
laid down the slice of raw seal, on which he had been about to regale
himself, and disengaged a long slender spear from the bow of his kayak.

It is well-known that wild-geese will, with proverbial stupidity, answer
to an imitation of their cry, particularly in spring.  Indeed, they will
answer to a very bad imitation of it, insomuch that the poorest
counterfeit will turn them out of their course and attract them towards
the crier.

Availing himself of this weakness, our Eskimo hid himself behind a bush,
and was opening his mouth to give vent to a stentorian goose-call when
he was checked, and apparently petrified, by a loud report, which echoed
among the neighbouring cliffs.

The youth knew the sound well.  He had heard it only once before, but,
once heard, it could never be forgotten.  It was the gun, or, as his
people called it, the fire-spouter, of an Indian.  Plunging quietly into
the underwood, he hastened towards the spot where a little wreath of
smoke betrayed the position of what may be almost styled his hereditary
foe.

Cautiously, carefully, and with a catlike motion that could hardly have
been excelled by an Indian brave, Cheenbuk advanced until he reached the
edge of a partially clear space, in which he beheld an Indian leisurely
engaged in pushing the head of a large grey goose under his belt.  At
his side, leaning against a tree, was the long-barrelled fowling-piece,
which he had just reloaded.  It was one of those common, cheap,
flint-lock affairs which were supplied by the fur-traders in those days.

The Indian was a tall, powerfully built middle-aged man, and, from his
look and manner, was evidently unsuspicious of the presence of a foe.
He seemed to be quite alone.

The Eskimo poised his light spear, but hesitated to launch it.  He
shrank from killing a defenceless foe.  The hesitation betrayed him, for
at the moment the sharp ear of the red man heard, and his eye discovered
him.

The gun flew to the Indian's shoulder, and the Eskimo launched his
spear, but by good fortune both weapons failed.  The well-directed spear
was cleverly dodged, and the gun missed fire.

To re-cock the weapon, take a more deadly aim, and pull the trigger, was
the work of three seconds; but again the flint proved faithless.
Cheenbuk, however, divined the meaning of the attempt, and sprang upon
his foe to prevent a repetition of the action, though he was now
practically unarmed,--for the little stone knife which he carried in his
bosom was but ill suited for deadly combat.

The Indian clubbed his gun to meet the onset, but the Eskimo, evading
the first blow, caught hold of the weapon with both hands, and now began
a fierce and prolonged struggle for possession of the "fire-spouter."

Both hands of each combatant being engaged, neither could venture to
draw his knife, and, as the men were pretty equally matched, both as to
size and strength, they swayed to and fro with desperate energy for a
considerable time, each endeavouring to throw the other, while the sweat
poured down their faces and their breathing came in fitful gasps.

At length there was a pause in the conflict.  It seemed as if they had
stopped by mutual consent to recover breath for a final effort.

As they glared into each other's faces, each felt surprised to see
little or nothing of the evidence of that deadly hatred which usually
characterises implacable foes.  Suddenly Cheenbuk relaxed his grip of
the gun and stepped back a pace.  In so doing he put himself, to some
extent at least, at the mercy of his adversary.  With quick perception
the Indian recognised the fact.  He drew himself up and dropped the gun
on the ground.

"Why should we fight?  The hunting-grounds are wide enough!" he said, in
the grave sententious tones peculiar to his race.

"That is just what came to my thought when I let go," answered the more
matter-of-fact Eskimo.

"Let us part, then, as friends," returned the red man, "and let us do it
in the manner of the pale-faced traders."

He extended his right hand as he spoke.  Cheenbuk, who had heard a
rumour of the white man's customs--probably from men of his race who had
met with the crews of whalers--advanced, grasped the extended hand, and
shook it in a way that might have done credit to any Englishman!  He
smiled at the same time with a slightly humorous expression, but the
other maintained his solemnity.  Fun is not a prominent characteristic
of the red man.

"But there is no need that we should part before feeding," said the
Eskimo.

"Waugh!" replied the Indian, by which it is to be presumed he signified
assent.

The reconciled foes being both adepts in the art of cookery, and--one of
them at least--in woodcraft, it was not long before a large fire was
blazing under a convenient fir-tree, and the grey goose soon hissed
pleasantly in front of it.  They were a quiet and self-contained couple,
however, and went about their work in profound silence.  Not that they
lacked ideas or language--for each, being naturally a good linguist, had
somehow acquired a smattering of the other's tongue,--but they resembled
each other in their disinclination to talk without having something
particular to say, and in their inclination to quietness and sobriety of
demeanour.

Here, however, the resemblance ceased, for while the Eskimo was free and
easy, ready to learn and to sympathise, and quick to see and appreciate
a joke, the Indian was sternly conservative, much impressed with his own
rectitude of intention, as well as his capacity for action, and
absolutely devoid of the slightest tinge of humour.  Thus the Eskimo's
expression varied somewhat with the nature of the subjects which chased
each other through his mind, while that of the red man never changed
from the calm of dignified immobility--except, of course, when, as
during the recent struggle, his life was in danger.

While the goose was roasting, the erstwhile foes sat down to watch the
process.  They had not to watch long, for the fire was strong and
neither of them was particular.  Indeed, the Eskimo would gladly have
eaten his portion raw, but waited patiently, out of deference to what he
deemed his companion's prejudices.

"You are alone?" said the Eskimo interrogatively.

"Yes--alone," returned the Indian.

To such men, this was mental food for at least a quarter of an hour.  By
the end of that time one side of the bird was sufficiently done.  The
Indian turned the stick on which it was impaled, drew his
scalping-knife, and commenced on the side that was ready while the other
side was being done.  Cheenbuk drew his stone knife, cut a large slice
of the breast, and also fell to work.  They ate vigorously, yet the
process was not soon over, for the goose was large and their appetites
were strong.  Of course they had no time or inclination for conversation
during the meal.  When it was finished, the grey goose was reduced to a
miserable skeleton.  Then both men sighed the sigh of contentment, wiped
their knives on the grass, and looked gravely at each other.

Cheenbuk seemed as if about to speak, but was arrested in his intention
by the strange and unaccountable proceedings of his companion, who now
drew forth a gaily decorated bag which hung at his belt behind him.
From this he extracted a whitish implement with a little bowl at one
end, and having leisurely filled it with a brown substance, also drawn
from the bag, he put the other or small end of the instrument between
his teeth.  Then he took up a burning stick and applied it to the bowl.

The Eskimo had been gazing at him with ever-widening eyes, but at this
his mouth also began to open, and he gave vent to a gentle "ho!" of
unutterable surprise, for immediately there burst from the Indian's lips
a puff of smoke as if he had suddenly become a gun, or fire-spouter and
gone off unexpectedly.

There was profound interest as well as astonishment in the gaze of our
Eskimo, for he now became aware that he was about to witness a
remarkable custom of the red men, of which he had often heard, but which
he had never clearly understood.

"Does it not burn?" he asked in breathless curiosity.

"No," replied his friend.

"Do you like it?  Hi--i!"

The exclamation was induced by the Indian, who at the moment sent a
stream of smoke from each nostril, shut his eyes as he did so, opened
his mouth, and otherwise exhibited symptoms of extreme felicity.

"Would you like to try it?" he asked after one or two more whiffs.

Cheenbuk accepted the offer and the pipe, drew a voluminous whiff down
into his lungs and exploded in a violent fit of coughing, while the
tears overflowed his eyes.

"Try again," said the Indian gravely.

For some minutes the Eskimo found it difficult to speak; then he
returned the pipe, saying, "No.  My inside is not yet tough like yours.
I will look--and wonder!"

After being admired--with wonder--for a considerable time, the Indian
looked at his companion earnestly, again offered him the pipe, and said,
"Try again."

The obliging Eskimo tried again, but with the caution of a child who,
having been burnt, dreads the fire.  He drew in a little smoke by means
of the power of inhalation and choked again slightly, but, being now on
his mettle, he resolved not to be beaten.  The Indian regarded him
meanwhile with grave approval.  Then it occurred to Cheenbuk to apply
the power of suction instead of inhalation.  It was successful.  He
filled his mouth instead of his lungs, and, in his childlike delight at
the triumph, he opened his mouth to its full extent, and sent forth a
cloud with a gasp which was the combined expression of a puff and a
"ho!"  Again he tried it, and was again successful.  Overjoyed at this,
like a child with a new toy, he went in for quite a broadside of puffs,
looking round at his friendly foe with a "ho!" between each, and
surrounding his head with an atmosphere of smoke.

Suddenly he stopped, laid down the pipe, rose up, and, looking as if he
had forgotten something, retired into the bush.

The Indian took up the discarded pipe, and for the first time displayed
a few wrinkles about the corners of his eyes as he put it between his
lips.

Presently Cheenbuk returned, somewhat paler than before, and sat down in
silence with a look, as if of regret, at the skeleton-goose.

Without any reference to what had passed, the Indian turned to his
companion and said, "Why should the men of the ice fight with the men of
the woods?"

"Why?" asked Cheenbuk, after a few moments' profound meditation, "why
should the men of the woods attack the men of the ice with their
fire-spouters?"

This question seemed to puzzle the Indian so much that he proceeded to
fill another pipe before answering it.  Meanwhile the Eskimo, being more
active-minded, continued--

"Is it fair for the men of the woods to come to fight us with
fire-spouters when we have only spears?  Meet us with the same weapons,
and then we shall see which are the best men."

The Indian looked at his companion solemnly and shook his head.

"The strongest warriors and the best fighters," he said, "are not always
the best men.  He who hunts well, keeps his wives supplied with plenty
of food and deerskin robes, and is kind to his children, is the best
man."

Cheenbuk looked suddenly in the face of his sententious companion with
earnest surprise in every feature, for the sentiments which had just
been expressed were in exact accordance with his own.  Moreover, they
were not what he expected to hear from the lips of a Dogrib.

"I never liked fighting," he said in a low voice, "though I have always
been able to fight.  It does nobody any good, and it always does
everybody much harm, for it loses much blood, and it leaves many women
and children without food-providers--which is uncomfortable for the men
who have enough of women and children of their own to hunt for.  But,"
continued the youth with emphasis, "I always thought that the men of the
woods loved fighting."

"Some of them do, but I hate it!" said the Indian with a sudden look of
such ferocity that the Eskimo might have been justified in doubting the
truth of the statement.

The flash, however, quickly disappeared, and a double wreath of smoke
issued from his nose as he remarked quietly, "Fighting lost me my
father, my two brothers, and my only son."

"Why, then, do you still come against us with fire-spouters?" asked
Cheenbuk.

"Because my people will have it so," returned the red man.  "I do what I
can to stop them, but I am only one, and there are many against me."

"I too have tried to stop my people when they would fight among
themselves," returned the Eskimo in a tone of sympathy; "but it is
easier to kill a walrus single-handed than to turn an angry man from his
purpose."

The Indian nodded assent, as though a chord had been struck which
vibrated in both bosoms.

"My son," he said, in a patronising tone, "do not cease to try.  Grey
hairs are beginning to show upon my head; I have seen and learned much,
and I have come to know that only he who tries, and tries, and tries
again to do what he knows is right will succeed.  To him the Great
Manitou will give his blessing."

"My father," replied the other, falling in readily with the fictitious
relationship, "I will try."

Having thus come to a satisfactory agreement, this Arctic Peace Society
prepared to adjourn.  Each wiped his knife on the grass and sheathed it
as he rose up.  Then they shook hands again after the fashion of the
pale-faces, and departed on their respective ways.  The red man returned
to the wigwams of his people, while the young Eskimo, descending the
river in his kayak, continued to hunt the white-whale and pursue the
feathered tribes which swarmed in the creeks, rivulets, and marshes that
bordered the ice-encumbered waters of the polar seas.



CHAPTER TWO.

WARUSKEEK.

Alas for the hopes and efforts of good men!  At the very time that
Cheenbuk and the Indian were expressing their detestation of war,
elsewhere a young Eskimo was doing his best to bring about that unhappy
and ruinous condition of things.

He was an unusually strong young Arctic swashbuckler, with considerably
more muscle than brains, a restless spirit, and what may be styled a
homicidal tendency.  He was also tyrannical, like many men of that
stamp, and belonged to the same tribe as Cheenbuk.

Walrus Creek was the summer residence of the tribe of Eskimos to which
Cheenbuk belonged.  It was a narrow inlet which ran up into a small
island lying some distance off the northern shores of America, to
discover and coast along which has been for so many years the aim and
ambition of Arctic explorers.  How it came by its name is not difficult
to guess.  Probably in ages past some adventurous voyagers, whose names
and deeds have not been recorded in history, observing the numbers of
walruses which scrambled out of the sea to sun themselves on the cliffs
of the said creek, had named it after that animal, and the natives had
adopted the name.  Like other aborigines they had garbled it, however,
and handed it down to posterity as Waruskeek, while the walruses,
perhaps in order to justify the name, had kept up the custom of their
forefathers, and continued to sun themselves there as in days of yore.
Seals also abounded in the inlet, and multitudes of aquatic birds
swarmed around its cliffs.

The Eskimo village which had been built there, unlike the snow-hut
villages of winter, was composed chiefly of huts made of slabs of stone,
intermingled with moss and clay.  It was exceeding dirty, owing to
remnants of blubber, shreds of skins, and bones innumerable, which were
left lying about.  There might have been about forty of these huts, at
the doors of which--or the openings which served for doors--only women
and children were congregated at the time we introduce them to the
reader.  All the men, with the exception of a few ancients, were away
hunting.

In the centre of the village there stood a hut which was larger and a
little cleaner than the others around it.  An oldish man with a grey
beard was seated on a stone bench beside the door.  If tobacco had been
known to the tribe, he would probably have been smoking.  In default of
that he was thrown back upon meditation.  Apparently his meditations
were not satisfactory, for he frowned portentously once or twice, and
shook his head.

"You are not pleased to-day, Mangivik," said a middle-aged woman who
issued from the hut at the moment and sat down beside the man.

"No, woman, I am not," he answered shortly.

Mangivik meant no disrespect by addressing his wife thus.  "Woman" was
the endearing term used by him on all occasions when in communication
with her.

"What troubles you?  Are you hungry?"

"No.  I have just picked a walrus rib clean.  It is not that."

He pointed, as he spoke, to a huge bone of the animal referred to.

"No, it is not that," he repeated.

"What then?  Is it something you may not tell me?" asked the woman in a
wheedling tone, as she crossed her legs and toyed with the flap of her
tail.

Lest the civilised reader should be puzzled, we may here remark that the
costume of the husband and wife whom we have introduced--as, indeed, of
most if not all Eskimo men and women--is very similar in detail as well
as material.  Mangivik wore a coat or shirt of seal-skin with a hood to
it, and his legs were encased in boots of the same material, which were
long enough to cover nearly the whole of each leg and meet the skirt of
the coat.  The feet of the boots were of tough walrus-hide, and there
was a short peak to the coat behind.  The only difference in the costume
of the woman was that the hood of her coat was larger, to admit of
infants and other things being carried in it, and the peak behind was
prolonged into a tail with a broad flap at the end.  This tail varied a
little in length according to the taste of the wearer--like our ladies'
skirts; but in all cases it was long enough to trail on the ground--
perhaps we should say the ice--and, from the varied manner in which
different individuals caused it to sweep behind them, it was evident
that the tail, not less than the civilised skirt, served the purpose of
enabling the wearers to display more or less of graceful motion.

"There is nothing that I have to hide from my woman," said the amiable
Eskimo, in reply to her question.  "Only I am troubled about that
jump-about man Gartok."

"Has he been here again?" asked the wife, with something of a frown on
her fat face.  "He is just as you say, a jump-about like the little
birds that come to us in the hot times, which don't seem to know what
they want."

"He is too big to look like them," returned the husband.  "He's more
like a mad walrus.  I met him on one of the old floes when I was after a
seal, and he frightened it away.  But it is not that that troubles me.
There are two things he is after: he wants to stir up our young men to
go and fight with the Fire-spouters, and he wants our Nootka for a
wife."

"The dirty walrus!" exclaimed Mrs Mangivik, with as much vigour as if
she had been civilised, "he shall _never_ have Nootka.  As for fighting
with the Fire-spouters, I only hope that if he does go to do so, he will
get killed and never come back."

"H'm!" grunted Mangivik, "if he does get killed he's not likely to come
back."

"Who is not likely to come back?" asked a young girl, with an
affectionate expression in her pretty brown eyes, issuing from the hut
at that moment and seating herself close to the old man.  The girl's
face, on the whole, was unusually pretty for that of an Eskimo, and
would have been still more so but for the grease with which it was
besmeared--for the damsel had just been having a little refreshment of
white-whale blubber.  Her figure was comparatively slim and graceful,
and would have been obviously so but for the ill-fitting coat and clumsy
boots with which it was covered.

"Your mother and I were talking of a bad man, Nootka," said Mangivik.

"Ay, a very very bad man," exclaimed Mrs Mangivik, with a decided nod
of her head.

"If he is so very bad," returned Nootka, "it would be good that he
should never come back.  Who is it?"

"Gartok," answered her mother, with the air of one who has mentioned the
most hateful thing in creation.

Nootka laughed.

"Surely you are not fond of him!" exclaimed Mangivik, regarding his
daughter with a look of anxiety.

"You know that I'm not," answered the girl, playfully hitting her sire
on the back with the flap of her tail.

"Of course not--of course not; you could not be fond of an ugly walrus
like him," said the father, replying to her pleasantry by fondly patting
her knee.

Just then a young man was seen advancing from the beach, where he had
left his kayak.

"It is Oolalik," said Mrs Mangivik, shading her eyes with her hand from
the sun, which, in all the strength of its meridian splendour, was
shining full on her fat face.  "He must have made a good hunt, or he
would not have come home before the others."

As she spoke Nootka arose hastily and re-entered the hut, from out of
which there issued almost immediately the sounds and the savoury odours
of roasting flesh.

Meanwhile Oolalik came up and gave vent to a polite grunt, or some such
sound, which was the Eskimo method of expressing a friendly salutation.

Mangivik and his wife grumped in reply.

"You are soon back," said the former.

"I have left a walrus and two seals on the rocks over there," answered
the youth, sitting down beside the old man.

"Good," returned the latter.  "Come in and feed."

He rose and entered the hut.  The young man who followed him was not so
much a handsome as a strapping fellow, with a quiet, sedate expression,
and a manly look that rendered him attractive to most of his friends.
Conversation, however, was not one of his strong points.  He volunteered
no remarks after seating himself opposite to Nootka, who handed him a
walrus rib which she had just cooked over the oil lamp.  Had Nootka been
a civilised girl she might have been suspected of conveying a suggestion
to the youth, for she was very fond of him, but, being an Eskimo of the
Far North, she knew nothing about ribs or of Mother Eve.  The young man
however required no delicate suggestion, for he was equally fond of
Nootka, and he endeavoured to show his feelings by a prolonged stare
after he had accepted the food.

One is irresistibly impressed with the homogeneity of the human race
when one observes the curious similarities of taste and habit which
obtain alike in savage and civilised man.  For a few moments this
youth's feelings were too much for him.  He stared in admiration at the
girl, apparently oblivious of the rib, and sighed profoundly.  Then he
suddenly recovered himself, appeared to forget the girl, and applied
himself tooth and nail to the rib.  Could anything be more natural--even
in a European prince?

Nootka did not speak--young women seldom do among savages, at least in
the company of men,--but she looked many and very unutterable things,
which it is impossible, and would not be fair, to translate.

"Will the others be back soon?" asked Mangivik.

Oolalik looked over the rib and nodded.  (In this last, also, there was
indication of homogeneity.)

"Have they got much meat?"

Again the young man nodded.

"Good.  There is nothing like meat, and plenty of it."

The old man proceeded to illustrate his belief in the sentiment by
devoting himself to a steak of satisfying dimensions.  His better-half
meanwhile took up the conversation.

"Is Gartok with them?" she asked.

"Yes, he is with them," said the youth, who, having finished the rib,
threw away the bone and looked across the lamp at Nootka, as if asking
for another.  The girl had one ready, and handed it to him.

Again Oolalik was overcome.  He forgot the food and stared, so that
Nootka dropped her eyes, presumably in some confusion; but once more the
force of hunger brought the youth round and he resumed his meal.

"Has Gartok killed much?" continued the inquisitive Mrs Mangivik.

"I know nothing about Gartok," replied the young man, a stern look
taking the place of his usually kind expression; "I don't trouble my
head about him when I am hunting."

He fastened his teeth somewhat savagely in the second rib at this point.

"Do you know," said Mangivik, pausing in his occupation, "that Gartok
has been trying to get the young men to go to the Whale River, where you
know there are plenty of birds and much wood?  He wants to fight with
the Fire-spouters."

"Yes, I know it.  Gartok is always for fighting and quarrelling.  He
likes it."

"Don't you think," said the old man suggestively, "that you could give
him a chance of getting what he likes without going so far from home?"

"No, I don't choose to fight for the sake of pleasing every fool who
delights to brag and look fierce."

Mrs Mangivik laughed at this, and her daughter giggled, but the old man
shook his head as if he had hoped better things of the young one.  He
said no more, however, and before the conversation was resumed the voice
of a boy was heard outside.

"Anteek," murmured Nootka, with a smile of pleasure.

"The other hunters must have arrived," said Oolalik, polishing off his
last bone, "for Anteek was with them."

"He always comes first to see me when he has anything to tell," remarked
Mrs Mangivik, with a laugh, "and from the noise he makes I think he has
something to tell to-day."

If noise was the true index of Anteek's news he evidently was brimful,
for he advanced shouting at the top of his voice.  With that
unaccountable ingenuity which characterises some boys, all the world
over, he produced every sort of sound except that which was natural to
him, and caused the surrounding cliffs to echo with the mooing of the
walrus, the roaring of the polar bear, the shriek of the plover, the
bellow of the musk-ox, and, in short, the varied cries of the whole
Arctic menagerie.  But he stopped short at the door of the hut and
looked at Oolalik in evident surprise.

"You are back before me?" he said.

"That is not strange: I am stronger."

"Yes, but I started off long before you."

"So you thought, but you were mistaken.  I saw you creeping away round
the point.  When you were out of sight I carried my kayak over the neck
of land, and so got here before you."

"Have you told?" asked the boy anxiously.

"Never said a word," replied Oolalik.

"Here," said Nootka, holding out a piece of half-cooked blubber to the
boy, "sit down and tell us all about it.  What is the news?"

"Ha!" exclaimed Anteek, accepting the food as if he appreciated it.
"Well, I've killed my first walrus--all alone too!"

"Clever boy! how was it?" said Mrs Mangivik.

"This was the way.  I was out by myself--all alone, mind--among the
cliffs, looking for eggs; but I had my spear with me, the big one that
Cheenbuk made for me just before he went off to the Whale River.  Well,
just as I was going to turn round one of the cliffs, I caught sight of a
walrus--a big one--monstrous; like that," he said, drawing an imaginary
circle with both arms, "fat, brown, huge tusks, and wide awake!  I knew
that, because his back was to me, and he was turning his head about,
looking at something in the other direction.  I was astonished, for
though they climb up on the cliffs a good height to sun themselves on
the warm rocks, I had never seen one climb so high as that.

"Well, I drew back very quick, and began to creep round so as to come at
him when he didn't expect me.  I soon got close enough, and ran at him.
He tried to flop away at first, but when I was close he turned and
looked fierce--terrible fierce!  My heart jumped, but it did not sink.
I aimed for his heart, but just as I was close at him my foot struck a
stone and I fell.  He gave a frightful roar, and I rolled out of his
way, and something twisted the spear out of my hand.  When I jumped up,
what do you think?  I found the spear had gone into one of his eyes, and
that made the other one water, I suppose, for he was twisting his head
about, but couldn't see me.  So I caught hold of the spear, pulled it
out, and plunged it into his side; but I had not reached the heart, for
he turned and made for the sea.

"There was a steep place just there, and he tumbled and rolled down.  I
lost my foothold and rolled down too--almost into his flippers, but I
caught hold of a rock.  He got hold at the same time with his tusks and
held on.  Then I jumped up and gave him the spear again.  This time I
hit the life, and soon had him killed.  There!"

On concluding his narrative the excited lad applied himself to his yet
untasted piece of blubber, and Nootka plied him with questions, while
Oolalik rose and went off to assist his comrades, whose voices could now
be heard as they shouted to the women and children of the colony to come
and help them to carry up the meat.



CHAPTER THREE.

PEACE OR WAR--WHICH?

Soon afterwards the Mangivik family received another visitor.  This was
the bellicose Gartok himself, whose heart had been touched by the fair
Nootka.

Like his rival, he sat down opposite the maiden, and stared at her
impressively across the cooking-lamp.  This would seem to be the usual
mode of courtship among those children of the ice; but the girl's mode
of receiving the attentions of the second lover varied considerably.
She did not drop her eyes shyly under his gaze, but stared him full in
the face by way of a slight rebuff.  Neither did she prepare for him a
savoury rib, so that he was obliged to help himself--which he did with
much coolness, for the laws of hospitality in Eskimo-land admit of such
conduct.

After some desultory conversation between Gartok and his host, the
latter asked if it was true that there was a talk of the tribe paying a
visit to Whale River.

"Yes, it is true," answered the young man.  "I came to see you about
that very thing, and to tell you that there is to be a meeting outside
the big hut to-day.  We shall want your advice."

"Why do the young men wish to go there?" asked Mangivik.

"To get food, and wood for our spear-handles and sledges, and berries,
and to have a good time.  Perhaps also to fight a little with the
Fire-spouters."

The youth glanced furtively at Mangivik as he concluded.

"To get food, and wood, and berries is good," observed the old man; "but
why fight with the Fire-spouters?  We cannot conquer them."

"You can ask that at the meeting.  It is useless to ask it of me."

"Good, I will do so.  For my part, I am too old to go on long
expeditions, either to hunt or fight--but I can give advice.  Is
Cheenbuk to be at the meeting?"

"Did you not know?  Cheenbuk has already gone to the Whale River.  We
only propose to follow him.  He may not like our business, but he'll
have to join us when we are there."

Having picked his rib clean, and receiving no encouragement from Nootka
to remain, Gartok rose and departed.

That afternoon there was a large meeting of the heads of families in
front of what was known as the big hut.  There was no formality about
the meeting.  Unlike the war councils of the Indians, it was a sort of
free-and-easy, in which blubber and other choice kinds of food did duty
for the red man's pipe.  The women, too, were allowed to sit around and
listen--but not to speak--while the hunters discussed their plans.

Gartok, being the biggest, most forward, and presumptuous among them
all, was allowed to speak first--though this was contrary to the wishes,
and even the custom, of the tribe.  He did not make a set speech.
Indeed, no one thought of delivering an oration.  It was merely a
palaver on a large scale.

"We want spear-handles," said Gartok, "and wood for our kayak-frames,
and deer for food, as well as birds and rabbit-skins for our
underclothing."

"That is true," remarked one of the elderly men; "we want all these
things, and a great many more things, but we don't want fighting.  There
is no use in that."

"Ho! ho!" exclaimed several voices in approval.

"But we do want fighting," retorted Gartok firmly; "we want the pretty
 things that the Fire-spouters sew on their clothes and shoes;
also the iron things they have for cutting wood; and we want the
spouters, which will make us more than a match for them in war; and we
can't get all these things without fighting."

"Do without them, then," observed Mangivik sharply; "why should we want
things that we never had, and don't need?  Listen to me, young men--for
I see by your looks that some of you would like a little fighting,--even
if we had the spouting things, we could not make them spout."

"That is a lie!" exclaimed Gartok, with the simple straightforwardness
peculiar to the uncivilised.  "Once I met one of the Fire-spouters when
I was out hunting at the Whale River.  He was alone, and friendly.  I
asked him to show me his spouter.  He did so, but told me to be very
careful, for sometimes it spouted of its own accord.  He showed me the
way to make it spout--by touching a little thing under it.  There was a
little bird on a bush close by.  `Point at that,' he said.  I pointed.
`Now,' said he, `look along the spouter with one eye.'  I put one end of
it against my cheek and tried to look, but by accident I touched the
little thing, and it spouted too soon!  I never saw the little bird
again; but I saw many stars, though it was broad daylight at the time."

"Ho! hoo!" exclaimed several of the younger men, who listened to this
narration with intense eagerness.

"Yes," continued Gartok, who had the gift of what is called "the gab,"
and was fond of exercising it,--"yes; it knocked me flat on my back--"

"Was it alive, then?" asked Anteek, who mingled that day with the men as
an equal, in consequence of his having slain a walrus single-handed.

"No, it was not quite, but it was very nearly alive.--Well, when I fell
the man laughed.  You know his people are not used to laugh.  They are
very grave, but this one laughed till I became angry, and I would have
fought with him, but--"

"Ay," interrupted Anteek, "but you were afraid, for he had the spouter."

Before Gartok could reply Mangivik broke in.

"Boo!" he exclaimed contemptuously, "it is of no use your talking so
much.  I too have been to the Whale River, and have seen the
fire-spouters, and I know they are _not_ nearly alive.  They are dead--
quite dead.  Moreover, they will not spout at all, and are quite
useless, unless they are filled with a kind of black sand which is
supplied by the white men who sell the spouters.  Go to the Whale River
if you will, but don't fight with any one--that is my advice, and my
hair is grey."

"It is white, old man, if you only saw it," murmured Anteek, with native
disrespect.  He was too good-natured, however, to let his thoughts be
heard.

"Come, Oolalik," said Mangivik, "you are a stout and a wise young man,
let us hear what you have got to say."

"I say," cried Oolalik, looking round with the air of a man who had much
in his head, and meant to let it out, "I say that the man who fights if
he can avoid it is a fool!  Look back and think of the time gone away.
Not many cold times have passed since our young men became puffed up--
indeed, some of our old men were little better--and made a raid on the
Fire-spouters of the Whale River.  They met; there was a bloody fight;
six of our best youths were killed, and numbers were wounded by the
little things that come out of the spouters.  Then they came home, and
what did they bring? what had they gained?  I was a boy at the time and
did not understand it all; but I understood some of it.  I saw the
fighters returning.  Some were looking very big and bold, as if they had
just come from fighting and conquering a whole tribe of bears and
walruses.  Others came back limping.  They went out young and strong
men; they came back too soon old, helped along by their companions.  Two
were carried--they could not walk at all.  Look at them now!"

Oolalik paused and directed attention to what may be called an
object-lesson--two men seated on his right hand.  Both, although in the
prime of life, looked feeble and prematurely old from wounds received in
the fight referred to.  One had been shot in the leg; the bone was
broken, and that rendered him a <DW36> for life.  The other had
received a bullet in the lungs; and a constitution which was naturally
magnificent had become permanently shattered.

"What do you think?" continued Oolalik.  "Would not these men give much
to get back their old strength and health?"

He paused again, and the men referred to nodded emphatically, as if they
thought the question a very appropriate one, while some of the
peacefully disposed in the assembly exclaimed "ho!" and "hoo!" in tones
of approval.

"Then," continued the speaker, "I passed by some of our huts and heard
sounds of bitter weeping.  I went in and found it was the wives and
sisters of the men whose bodies lie on the banks of the Whale River.
There would be reason in fighting, if we had to defend our huts against
the Fire-spouters.  Self-defence is right; and every one has a good word
for the brave men who defend their homes, their women, and their
children.  But the Fire-spouters did not want to fight, and the men who
lost their lives at the fight I am speaking of, threw them away for
nothing.  They will never more come home to provide their families with
food and clothes, or to comfort them, or to play with the children and
tell them of fights with the walrus and the bear when the nights are
black and long.  Most of those poor women had sons or man-relations to
care for them, but there was one who had no relation to hunt for her
after her husband was killed--only a little daughter to take care of
her.  I speak of old Uleeta, who is--"

"That is a lie!" cried Gartok, springing up and looking fierce.  "Old
Uleeta is, as you all know, my mother.  She had _me_ to hunt for her
when father was killed, and she has me still."

"You!" exclaimed Oolalik, with a look of scorn, "what are you?  A
hunter?  No, only a fool who wants to be thought very brave, and would
leave his mother and sister to the care of old men and boys while he
goes away to fight with the Fire-spouters!  No," he continued, turning
away from the angry young man with cool contempt, "old Uleeta has no
son."

Gartok was so taken aback with this behaviour of Oolalik, who was
recognised as one of the gentlest and most peacefully disposed of the
tribe, that he stood gaping for a moment in surprise.  Then, observing
the half-amused, half-contemptuous looks of the men around him, he
suddenly caught up the unfinished handle of a spear that leaned against
the wall of the hut beside him, and made a desperate blow with it at the
head of Oolalik.

But that youth had expected some such demonstration, and was prepared
for it.  Being very agile, he made a step swiftly to one side, and the
handle came down on the skull of a walrus which hung on the wall, with a
violence that would have surprised its original owner had it been
within.

Before the blow could be repeated Oolalik sprang towards his assailant.

Eskimos know nothing of a blow "straight from the shoulder," but they
know how to cuff.  Oolalik brought his open hand down on Gartok's cheek
with a pistol-shot crack that tumbled that fire-eater head over heels on
the ground.

The man was too strong, however, to be knocked insensible in that way.
He recovered himself, sitting-wise, with his mouth agape and his eyes
astonied, while the whole assembly burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
High above the rest was heard the juvenile voice of the delighted
Anteek.

What the fire-eater thought we cannot tell, but he had the wisdom to
accept his punishment in silence, and listened with apparent interest
while Oolalik concluded his remarks.

The effect of this belligerent episode was to advance the cause of the
peace-party considerably--at least for a time--and when the meeting
broke up, most of the people returned to their various homes with a firm
determination to leave the poor Fire-spouters alone.

But Gartok, who was still smarting under the disgrace to which he had
been subjected at the hands of Oolalik, managed to rekindle and blow up
the war-spirit, so that, two days later, a strong party of the more
pugnacious among the young men of the tribe set off in their kayaks for
the Whale River, taking with them a few of the women in one of their
open boats or oomiaks--chiefly for the purpose of keeping their garments
in repair.



CHAPTER FOUR.

WAR PREVAILS.

It would seem, at times, as if there were really some sort of spiritual
communication between people whose physical frames are widely sundered.

For at the very time that the Eskimos, in their remote home on the
ice-encumbered sea, were informally debating the propriety of making an
unprovoked attack on the Dogrib Indians--whom they facetiously styled
Fire-spouters--the red men were also holding a very formal and solemn
council of war as to the advisability of making an assault on those
presumptuous Eskimos, or eaters-of-raw-flesh, who ventured to pay an
uncalled-for visit to the Greygoose River--their ancestral property--
every spring.

One of their chiefs, named Nazinred, had just returned from a visit to
the river, and reported having met and fought with one of the Eskimos.

Immediately on hearing this, the old or head chief summoned the council
of war.  The braves assembled in the council-tent in solemn dignity,
each classically enveloped in his blanket or leathern robe, and
inflated, more or less, with his own importance.  They sat down silently
round the council fire with as much gravity as if the fate of nations
depended on their deliberations,--and so, on a small scale, it did.

After passing round the pipe--by way of brightening up their
intellects--the old chief held forth his hand and began in a low voice
and deliberate manner.

"My braves," said he, "those filthy eaters-of-raw-flesh have, as you
know, been in the habit of coming to Greygoose River every spring and
trespassing on the borders of our hunting-grounds."

He paused and looked round.

"Waugh!" exclaimed his audience, in order to satisfy him.

With a dark frown the old chief went on.

"This is wrong.  It is not right.  It is altogether unbearable, and more
than the Dogribs can stand.  They _won't_ stand it!"

"Waugh!" again said the audience, for the old man had delivered the last
sentence with considerable vehemence, and meant that it should tell.

Being apparently destitute of a flow of ideas at that time, the speaker
had recourse to a not uncommon device among civilised orators: he
cleared his throat, looked preternaturally wise, and changed the
subject.

"When the sun of spring rises over the ice-hills of the great salt
lake," he continued, pointing towards the Pole, "when it melts the snow,
opens the lakes and rivers, and brings the summer birds to our land, the
braves of the great Dogrib nation take their guns, and bows, and canoes,
and women, and travel nearly as far as the icy sea, that they may hunt
and feed--and--sleep, and--and--enjoy the land.  Nobody dares to stop
us.  Nobody dares to hinder us.  Nobody dares even to look at us!"

He paused again, and this flight of oratory was received with a very
decided "ho!" of assent, as it well might be, for during nearly all the
year there was nobody in that uninhabited land to attempt any of those
violent proceedings.  Dilating his eyes and nostrils with a look of
superlative wisdom, he continued:

"But at last the Eskimos dared to come and look at our hunting-grounds.
We were peacefully disposed.  We warned them not to come again.  They
came again, notwithstanding.  We took our guns and swept them away like
leaves that are swept by the winter winds.  Are not their scalps drying
in our lodges?  What we did then we will do again.  Has not one of our
chiefs--Nazinred--been attacked by one of them?  No doubt more will
follow that one.  My counsel is to send out a band of our braves on the
war-path.  But first we would like to know something.  As the Eskimo did
not take the scalp of Nazinred, how is it that Nazinred did not bring
home the scalp of the Eskimo?"

The old chief ceased, amid many "ho's!" and "hoo's!" with the air of one
who has propounded an unanswerable riddle, and all eyes were at once
turned upon Nazinred.  Accepting the challenge at once he stretched
forth his hand:

"My father has spoken," he said, "but his words are not the words of
wisdom.  Why should we fight the Eskimos again, and lose some of our
best young men, as we lost them in the last great fight?  The Eskimos
have come near our lands, but they have not of late hunted on them.
They have only looked and gone away.  And even if they did hunt, what
then?  The land is wide.  We cannot use it all.  We cannot kill all the
birds and deer, and even if we could we cannot eat them all.  Would it
not be wise to live at peace with the Eskimos?  They have many great
teeth of the walrus and skins of the seal.  Might not the white traders,
who take our furs and give us guns and powder, be willing to take these
things too?  Thus we could buy from the one and sell to the other, and
fill our lodges with tobacco, and guns, and beads, and cloth, and powder
and ball, and other good things."

The Indian stopped at this point to ascertain the effect of his remarks,
but only a few faint "ho's!" greeted him.  The councillors did not feel
quite sure of their own minds.  His remarks about peace and war were not
palatable, and his suggestions about trade were a novelty.  Evidently
Nazinred was born much in advance of his time.

"It is true," he continued, "that I had a struggle with a young Eskimo;
but he was very strong, and so was I.  Before I could kill him he caught
hold of my gun, but he could not force it from me, and I could not force
it from him.  As we strove we looked into each other's eyes and we each
saw peace and good-will there!  So we ceased to fight.  We kindled a
fire and sat down and fed together.  As the light slowly increases while
the sun rises, so light came into my mind.  The Dogribs have always
talked of the Eskimos as if they were fools.  I found that this young
man was not a fool--that he was wise--wiser than some of our own braves.
His mind was deep and wide.  He did not talk only of food and sleep and
hunting.  He spoke of things past and present and future, and of the
Great Spirit, and the world to come.  Also of peace and war; and we both
agreed that peace was good and war hateful.  More than that, we found
that it was foolish.  Then we parted.  He went, I suppose, to his people
on the sea of ice, and I came home.

"He told me that none of his people were with him--that he was alone.
There is therefore no occasion for the young men to look fierce or go on
the war-path."

Having thus tried to throw oil on the troubled waters Nazinred came to
an abrupt pause.

Instantly one of the younger councillors, named Magadar, sprang to his
feet.  He was unusually excitable for an Indian.  Indeed, he differed a
good deal from his companions in other respects, being passionate,
impulsive, hasty, and matter-of-fact; in his speech-making too he
scorned the use of symbol and metaphor, but went straight to the point
at once in the simplest and most forcible language at his command.

"Braves," he said, looking at the previous speaker with a dark frown,
"the Dogribs know nothing of those strange and stupid notions that have
just come out of the lips of Nazinred.  He says that this dirty Eskimo
is a deep thinker and a man who loves peace.  How does he know that one
of that sort may not think so deeply as to deceive him?  How does he
know that the young man is not a liar--that many of his warriors may not
be in our hunting-grounds even at this moment, though he says there are
none?  As for his talk about the Great Spirit and the future, what does
he know about either the one or the other?  Is he wiser than the
Dogribs?  Does his attack on Nazinred look like a lover of peace?  His
leaving off when he found that Nazinred was his match seems to me more
like sly wisdom than the hatred of war.  My advice is not to trust these
dirty men of the ice, but to take our guns at once and drive them from
the land."

It was quite evident from the way in which this speech was received that
the war-party was in the ascendant, and there is no doubt that Magadar's
advice would have prevailed, and a war-party been organised forthwith,
but for the arrival of a band of successful hunters, who had been out
for some time in quest of food.

For a considerable part of that winter those Indians had been in a
condition of semi-starvation.  They had managed with difficulty to
sustain themselves and families on rabbits, which were scarce that year.
With the return of spring and the wild-fowl, however, things had begun
to improve, and the hunting party above referred to was the first of the
season that had returned to camp heavily laden with geese, ducks,
plover, and other supplies of food, so that the half-famished people
gave themselves up to feasting, and had no time to think further of war.

Thus many days were passed without any reference being made to a fight
with the Eskimos, and Nazinred, believing that the fancy to go on the
war-path had passed away, set off on what was to be a long hunting
expedition with three of his comrades who were like-minded with himself.
Among other plans, this party intended to visit the establishment of
the fur-traders on Great Bear Lake.

Thus when the belligerent party of Eskimos arrived at the mouth of
Greygoose, or Whale, River, they found the place, as they had been
accustomed to find it, a complete solitude.

At first they expected to overtake their comrade Cheenbuk there, but he
was not found, having gone a considerable way inland in pursuit of game.
Being aware of his peaceful proclivities, however, the Eskimos were not
sorry to miss him, and they set about making an encampment on the shore
at the mouth of the river, intending to leave the women there while they
should be engaged in hunting and in searching for the Fire-spouters.

Meanwhile these Fire-spouters, having eaten and slept, and eaten and
slept again, to the extent of their capacities, began to experience a
revival of the war-spirit.

In front of one of the lodges or leather tents, one morning early, there
sat two squaws engaged in ornamenting moccasins and discussing the news
of their little world.

It was one of those bright genial mornings in spring peculiar to Arctic
lands, in which Warmth comes out with a burst victorious, and Cold
shrinks away discomfited.  Everything looked as if a great revival of
Nature were at hand--as in truth it was, for the long Arctic winter is
always driven away with a rush by the vigour, if not the violence, of
the brief Arctic spring.

One of the women was young and pretty--yes, we might almost say
beautiful.  It is quite a mistake to suppose that all savages are
coarse, rough, and ugly.  Many of them, no doubt--perhaps most of them--
are plain enough, but not a few of the Indian squaws are fairly
good-looking, and this one, as we have said at the risk of being
doubted, was beautiful; at all events she had a fine oval face, a smooth
warm-<DW52> skin, a neat little nose, a well-formed mouth, and
jet-black hair, with large lustrous eyes, to say nothing of her teeth,
which, like the teeth of most Indians, were regular and brilliantly
white.  Her name was Adolay--that being the Indian name for Summer.

The other squaw was her mother.  She was usually styled Isquay--which
means woman--by her husband when he was at home, but, being a great
hunter, he was not often at home.  Poor Isquay might have been
good-looking in her youth, but, alas! hard work, occasional starvation,
and a rough life, had prematurely dissipated her beauty, whatever it
might have been; yet these conditions could not put to flight the lines
and dimples of kindliness which played about her weatherworn eyes and
cheeks.  You see, she had a gentle, indulgent husband, and that made her
happy and kept her so.

"Magadar is stirring up the young men again to go on the war-path," said
the younger woman, without looking up from the embroidered moccasin with
which she was engaged.

"Yes, I know it.  I heard him as he passed our tent talking to Alizay.
I don't like Alizay; he is like gunpowder: the least thing sets him off,
and he flashes up horribly."

"But many of our other braves have no desire to quarrel with the
Eskimos," said Adolay; "indeed, some are even fond of them.  And some of
the men of the ice are very handsome.  Don't you remember that one,
mother, that we met when we went last spring with some of our men to
shoot at the Greygoose River?  He was a fine man--big and strong, and
active and kind--almost good enough to be a Dogrib."

"I remember him well," returned Isquay, "for he saved my life.  Have you
forgotten that already?"

"No, I have not forgotten it," answered the girl, with a slight smile.
"Did I not stand on the riverbank with my heart choking me when I saw
the ice rushing down with the flood and closing on your canoe--for I
could do nothing to help you, and none of our men were near!  And did I
not see the brave man of the ice, when he heard my cry, come running
like the deer and jump into the river and swim like the otter till he
got to you, and then he scrambled on a big bit of ice and lifted you and
the canoe out of the water as if he had the strength of a moose-deer,
after which he guided the ice-lump to the bank with one of your paddles!
Forget it! no.  I only wish the brave Eskimo was an Indian."

"I think you would be offering to be his squaw if he was," said the
mother with a short laugh.

"Perhaps I would.  But he's only an eater-of-raw-flesh!"  Adolay sighed
as gently as if she had been a civilised girl!  "But he has gone away to
the great ice lake, so I suppose we shall never see him again."

"Unless," said Isquay, "he comes back this spring with his people, and
our braves have a fight with them--then you would be likely to see his
scalp again, if not himself."

Adolay made no reply to this; neither did she seem shocked at the
suggestion.  Indeed, Indian women are too much accustomed to real
shocking to be much troubled with shocks of the imagination.  Holding
out her moccasin at arm's-length, the better to note the effect of her
work, she expressed regret that her father had gone off with the
hunters, for she felt sure he would have been able to allay the
war-fever among the young braves if he had remained at home.

"Ay, he would easily have put down Alizay and Magadar; but the old chief
can do nothing, he is growing too old.  The young men don't mind him
now.  Besides, he is warlike as well as they."

While they were conversing thus, the young men referred to had finally
decided to go on the war-path--to search for the Eskimo who had fought
with their chief Nazinred, find him and kill him, and then continue the
search for his companions; for they had set him down as a liar,
believing that no Eskimo had the courage to visit their hunting-grounds
by himself.

To resolve and to act were almost simultaneous proceedings with those
energetic savages.  In a very short time between twenty and thirty of
them left the village in single file, armed with the deadly gun, besides
tomahawks and scalping-knives, and took their way to a neighbouring
creek on the banks of which their canoes were lying.



CHAPTER FIVE.

A RENCONTRE AND FLIGHT.

Thus it naturally came to pass that the two bands of men who had gone to
the same place to meet each other met in the course of time.

There was a good deal of wandering about, however, before the actual
meeting took place, for the Eskimos had to provide a quantity of food on
landing on the Arctic shore, not only for themselves, but to supply the
four women who had accompanied them, and were to be left on the coast to
fish and mend their spare garments and boots, and await their return.

"We shall not be long of coming back," said Gartok as he was about to
leave his mother, old Uleeta, who was in the crew of one of the oomiaks.

"I wish I saw you safe back, my son," returned the woman, with a shake
of her head, "but I fear the Fire-spouters."

"_I_ don't fear them," returned the young man boastfully, "and it does
not matter much what you fear."

"He will never come back," said one of the other women when he was gone.
"I know that because I feel it.  There is something inside of me that
always tells me when there is going to be misfortune."

The woman who thus expressed her forebodings was a mild young creature,
so gentle and inoffensive and yielding that she was known throughout her
tribe by the name of Rinka, a name which was meant to imply weakness.
Her weakness, however, consisted chiefly in a tendency to prefer others
before herself--in which matter Christians do not need to be told that
she was perhaps the strongest of all her kin.

As the weather was comparatively warm, the women contented themselves
with a tent or bower of boughs for their protection.  They were not long
in erecting it, being well accustomed to look after themselves.  In less
than an hour after their men had left them they were busy with
seal-steaks over the cooking-lamp, and the place was rendered somewhat
home-like by several fur garments being spread on the rocks to dry.

"Yes, Gartok will get himself killed at last," said old Uleeta, drawing
her finger across the frizzling steak and licking it, for her appetite
was sharp-set and she was impatient, "He was always a stubborn boy."

"But he is strong, and a good fighter," remarked Rinka, as she spread a
seal-skin boot over her knee with the intention of patching it.

"I wish all the other men were as strong as he is, and ready to fight,"
said one of the other women, giving the steak a turn.

It must not be supposed that, although the Eskimos are known to their
Indian friends--or foes--as eaters-of-raw-flesh, they always prefer
their food in the raw condition.  They are only indifferent on the
point, when the procuring of fire is difficult, or the coldness of the
weather renders it advisable to eat the flesh raw, as being more
sustaining.

"I only wish that they would not fight at all," said Rinka with a sigh,
as she arranged the top-knot of her hair.  "It makes the men too few and
the women too many, and that is not good."

The fourth woman did not express an opinion at all.  She was one of
those curiously, if not happily, constituted creatures, who seem to have
no particular opinion on any subject, who listen to everything with a
smile of placid content, who agree with everybody and object to nothing.
They are a sort of comfort and relief in a world of warfare--especially
to the obstinate and the positive.  Her name was Cowlik.

"There is no reason why we should continue to roast our seal-meat over a
lamp now," observed old Uleeta.  "There is plenty of wood here.  Come,
we will gather sticks and make a fire."

The others agreeing to this, three of them rose and went into the bush,
leaving Cowlik to watch the steaks.

Meanwhile the young men who had followed the lead of Gartok--fifteen in
number--were cautiously ascending the Greygoose River, each in his
kayak, armed with a throwing-spear, lance, and bow.  One of their number
was sent out in advance as a scout.  Raventik was his name.  He was
chosen for the duty because of his bold, reckless nature, sharpness of
vision, general intelligence, and his well-known love for excitement and
danger.

"You will always keep well out of sight in advance of us," said Gartok
to this scout, "and the first sight you get of the Fire-spouters, shove
in to some quiet place, land, haul up your kayak, and creep near them
through the bushes as quietly and cleverly as if you were creeping up to
a bear or a walrus.  Then come back and tell us what you have seen.  So
we will land and attack them and throw them all into the river."

"I will do my best," answered Raventik gravely.

"It is not likely," added Gartok, "that you will find them to-day, for
they seldom come down as far as here, and they don't know we are
coming."

The scout made no reply.  Having received his orders he stepped into his
kayak and paddled off into the stream, against which he made but slow
progress, however, for the river happened to be considerably swollen at
the time.  He was also impeded at first by his comparative ignorance of
river navigation.  Being accustomed to the currentless waters of the
ocean, he was not prepared by experience to cope with the difficulty of
rushing currents.  He went too far out into the stream at first, and was
nearly upset.  Natural intelligence, however, and the remembrance of
talks to which he had listened between men of his tribe who had already
visited the place, taught him to keep close in to the banks, and make as
much use of eddies and backwater as possible.  The double-bladed paddle
hampered him somewhat, as its great length, which was no disadvantage in
the open sea, prevented him from keeping as close to the banks as he
desired.  Despite these drawbacks, however, Raventik soon acquired
sufficient skill, and in a short time a curve in the river hid him from
the flotilla which followed him.

Now it so happened that the Indians who were supposed to be a
considerable distance inland were in reality not many miles from the
spot where the Eskimos had held their final conference, which ended in
Raventik being sent off in advance.  It was natural that, accustomed as
they were to all the arts of woodcraft, they should discover the
presence of the scout long before he discovered them; and so in truth it
turned out.

The Indians had ten birch-bark canoes, with three warriors in most of
them--all armed, as we have said, with the dreaded fire-spouters and
tomahawks, etcetera--for, as they were out on the war-path for the
express purpose of driving the dirty Eskimos off their lands, Magadar
had resolved to make sure by starting with a strong and well-equipped
force.

Of course Magadar's canoe led the van; the others followed in single
file, and, owing to the nature of their paddles, which were
single-bladed, and could be dipped close to the sides of the canoes,
they were able to creep along much nearer to the bank than was possible
to the kayaks.

At a bend in the river, where a bush-covered point jutted out into a
large pool, Magadar thrust his canoe in among some reeds and landed to
reconnoitre.  Scarcely had he raised his head above the shrubs when he
caught sight of Raventik in his kayak.

To stoop and retire was the work of a few seconds.  The men in the other
canoes, who were watching him intently, at once disembarked, and, at a
signal from their chief, carried their light barks into the bushes and
hid them there, so that the Eskimo scout would certainly have passed the
place in half an hour without perceiving any sign of his foes, but for
an incident which enlightened him.

Accidents will happen even in the best regulated families, whether these
be composed of red men or white.  Just as the last canoe was
disappearing behind its leafy screen, one of the young braves, who was
guilty of the unpardonable offence of carrying his gun on full-cock,
chanced to touch the trigger, and the piece exploded with, in the
circumstances, an appalling report, which, not satisfied with sounding
in the ears of his exasperated comrades like a small cannon, went on
echoing from cliff to cliff, as if in hilarious disregard of secrecy,
and to the horror of innumerable rabbits and wild-fowl, which
respectively dived trembling into holes or took to the wings of terror.

"Fool!" exclaimed Magadar, scarce able to refrain from tomahawking the
brave in his wrath--"launch the canoes and give chase."

The order was obeyed at once, and the flotilla dashed out into the
stream.

But Raventik was not to be caught so easily as they had expected.  He
had turned on hearing the report, and swept out into the middle of the
river, so as to get the full benefit of the current.  His kayak, too,
with its sharp form, was of better build and material for making headway
than the light Indian canoes--propelled as it was with the long
double-bladed paddle in the strong hands of one of the stoutest of the
Eskimos.  He shot down the stream at a rate which soon began to leave
the Indians behind.

Seeing this, Magadar laid aside his paddle for a moment, raised his gun
to his shoulder, and fired.

Again were the echoes and the denizens of the woods disturbed, and two
other Indians fired, thus rendering confusion worse confounded.  Their
aims were not good, however, and Raventik was interested and surprised--
though not alarmed--by the whizzing sounds that seemed close to his
ears, and the little splashes in the water just ahead of him.
Fortunately a bend in the river here concealed him for some time from
the Indians, and when they once more came in sight of him he was almost
out of range.

In the meantime his comrades, amazed by the strange sounds that burst on
their ears, put hastily on shore, carried their kayaks into the bushes,
and climbed to the summit of a rising ground, with the double purpose of
observing the surrounding country and of making it a place of defence if
need be.

"Raventik must have found our enemies," said Gartok to Ondikik, his
lieutenant, as he led his men up the <DW72>.

"That is certain," returned Ondikik, "and from the noise they are
making, I think the Fire-spouters are many.  But this is a good place to
fight them."

"Yes, we will wait here," said Gartok.

As he spoke Raventik was seen sweeping into view from behind a point in
the middle of the most rapid part of the river, and plying his long
paddle with the intense energy of one whose life depends on his
exertions.  The Eskimos on the knoll gazed in breathless anxiety.  A few
minutes later the canoe of Magadar swept into view.

"The Fire-spouters!" exclaimed Ondikik.

"Three men in it!" cried Gartok.  Then, as one after another of the
canoes came into view, "Four! six! ten of them, and three men in each!"

"And all with fire-spouters!" gasped the lieutenant.

"Come," exclaimed Gartok, "it is time for us to go!"

The Eskimos were by no means cowardly, but when they saw that the
approaching foe was double their number, and reflected that there might
be more behind them, all armed with guns, it was no wonder that they
bethought themselves of retreat.  To do them full credit, they did not
move until their leader gave the word--then they sprang down the
hillock, and in three minutes more were out in their kayaks making for
the mouth of the river at their utmost speed.

On seeing this the Indians uttered a wild war-whoop and fired a volley.
But the distance between them was too great.  Only a few of the balls
reached the fugitives, and went skipping over the water, each wide of
its mark.

"Point high," said Magadar to Alizay, who had just re-charged his gun.

The Indian obeyed, fired, and watched for the result, but no visible
result followed.

"That is strange," muttered the chief; "my brother must have pointed too
high--so high that it has gone into the sun, for I never yet saw a
bullet fired over water without coming down and making a splash."

"It may have hit a canoe," said Alizay.  "I will try again."

The second shot was, to all appearance, not more effective than the
first.

"Perhaps my brother forgot to put in the balls."

"Is Alizay a squaw?" asked the insulted brave angrily.

Magadar thought it wise to make no answer to this question, and in a few
seconds more the kayaks doubled round a point that jutted into the
stream and were hid from view.

But the two bullets had not missed their billets.  One--the first
fired--had dropped into Gartok's canoe and buried itself in his left
thigh.  With the stoicism of a bold hunter, however, he uttered no cry,
but continued to wield his paddle as well as he could.  The other ball
had pierced the back of his lieutenant Ondikik.  He also, with the
courage of a savage warrior, gave no sign at first that he was wounded.

At this point, where the Eskimos were for a time sheltered by the
formation of the land, the Greygoose River had a double or horse-shoe
bend; and the Indians, who knew the lie of the land well, thought it
better to put ashore and run quickly over a neck of land in the hope of
heading the kayaks before they reached the sea.  Acting on this belief
they thrust their canoes in among the reeds, and, leaping on shore,
darted into the bushes.

The Eskimos, meanwhile, knowing that they could beat the Indians at
paddling, and that the next bend in the stream would reveal to them a
view of the open sea, kept driving ahead with all the force of their
stout arms.  They also knew that the firing would have alarmed their
women and induced them to embark in their oomiak, push off to sea, and
await them.

And this would have turned out as they had expected, but for an
unforeseen event which delayed the women in their operations until too
late--at least for one of the party.



CHAPTER SIX.

A SURPRISE, A STRUGGLE, AND A CAPTURE.

When the Eskimo women, as before related, made up their minds to discard
the cooking-lamp and indulge in the luxury of a wood fire, they sent one
of their number into the bush to gather sticks.  The one selected for
this duty was Rinka, she being active and willing, besides being
intelligent, which last was a matter of importance in one totally
unaccustomed to traversing the pathless woods.

The girl obeyed orders at once, and soon had collected a large armful of
dried branches, with which she prepared to return to the encampment.
But when she looked up at the small trees by which she was surrounded,
she felt considerably puzzled as to the direction in which she ought to
walk.  Of course, remembering that her back had been toward the sea when
she set out, nothing seemed simpler than to turn round with her face
towards it and proceed.  But she had not done this for many minutes,
when it occurred to her that she must have turned about more or less,
several times, during her outward journey.  This brought her to an
abrupt halt.  She looked up and around several times, and then, feeling
quite sure that the shore must lie in a certain direction pointed out by
Hope, set off in that direction at a good round pace.  As the wood
seemed to get thicker, however, she concluded that she was wrong, and
changed direction again.  Still the undergrowth became more dense, and
then, suddenly coming to the conclusion that she was lost, she stood
stock-still and dropped her bundle of sticks in dismay.

For a few moments she was stunned, as if her position were unbelievable.
Then she became horrified and shouted to her companions, but her
feeble, unassertive voice was unable to travel far, and drew forth no
response.  Indeed, she had wandered so far into the forest that, even if
possessed of a man's voice, she might have failed to attract the
attention of the women.  Then the sound of distant firing began to
salute her ears, and in an agony of anxiety she ran hither and thither
almost blindly.

But there were other ears besides those of Rinka which were startled by
the guns.

Sitting under a tree--all ignorant of the presence of his brethren or of
the warlike Indians--Cheenbuk was regaling himself on the carcass of a
fat willow-grouse which he had speared a little before the firing began.

Our Eskimo was making for the coast where he had left his kayak, and had
halted for a feed.  The sport in the woods, after its novelty wore off,
had lost interest for one whose natural game, so to speak, was bears and
walruses, and he was on his way back when this rattle of musketry
arrested him.

The sudden eruption of it was not more puzzling to him than its abrupt
cessation.  Could it be that some of his tribe had followed him to the
river and fallen in with the men of the woods?  He thought it not
unlikely, and that, if so, his assistance, either as fighter or
peacemaker, might be required.

Bolting the remainder of the willow-grouse precipitately, he jumped up,
grasped his weapons, and made for the coast, as near as he could guess,
in the direction of the firing.

It happened, at the same time, that one of the young Indians, who was on
his first war-path, and thirsted for scalps as well as distinction,
chanced to keep a more easterly direction than his fellows, when they
took to the bush, as already related.  This man, coming to an open glade
whence he could see the shore, beheld the Eskimo women launching their
oomiak in a state of frantic alarm.  They were also signalling or
beckoning eagerly as if to some one in the woods.  Casting a hurried
glance to his right, he observed poor Rinka, who had just got clear of
the forest, and was running towards her companions as fast as her short
legs could carry her.

Without a moment's hesitation, he took aim at her and fired.  The poor
girl uttered a loud shriek, threw up her arms, and fell to the ground.
It chanced that Cheenbuk was within a hundred yards of the spot at the
moment, but the bushes prevented his seeing what had occurred.  The
report, however, followed by the woman's shriek, was a sufficient spur
to him.  Darting forward at full speed, he quickly cleared the underwood
and came suddenly in view of a sight that caused every nerve in his body
to tingle--Rinka prostrate on the ground with blood covering her face
and hands, and the young Indian standing over her about to operate with
the scalping-knife.

The howl of concentrated rage and horror uttered by Cheenbuk instantly
checked the savage, and made him turn in self-defence.  He had run to
finish his horrible work, and secure the usual trophy of war without
taking time to re-load his gun, and was thus almost unarmed.  Grasping
his powder-horn he attempted to rectify this error--which would never
have been committed by an experienced warrior,--but before he could
accomplish half the operation, the well-aimed spear of Cheenbuk went
whistling through the air, and entering his chest came out at his back.
He fell dead almost without a groan.

Cheenbuk did not stop to finish the work by stabbing or scalping, but he
kneeled beside the wounded girl and gently raised her.

"Rinka," he said, softly, while he undid her jacket and sought for the
wound, "is it bad?  Has he killed you?"

"I feel that I am dying.  There is something here."  She laid her hand
upon her side, from a small wound in which blood was issuing freely.

The heart of the man was at once torn by tender pity and bitter
indignation, when he thought of the gentle nature of the poor creature
who had been thus laid low, and of the savage cruelty of the Indian who
had done it--feelings which were not a little complicated by the
reflection that the war-spirit--that is, the desire to kill for mere
self-glorification--among some of his own people had probably been the
cause of it all.

"It is useless.  I am dying," gasped the girl, drawing her bloody hand
across her forehead.  "But don't leave me to fall into the hands of
these men.  Take me home and let me die beside my mother."

She was yet speaking when old Uleeta and her companions came forward.
Seeing that no other Indian appeared, and that the one who had shot
Rinka was dead, they had quelled their alarm and come to see what had
occurred.  Cheenbuk, after stanching the flow of blood, availed himself
of their aid to carry the wounded girl to the oomiak more comfortably
than could have been possible if he had been obliged to carry her in his
own strong arms.

With much care they placed her in the bottom of the boat, then the women
got in, and Cheenbuk was about to follow, when the report of a gun was
heard, and a bullet whizzed close past old Uleeta's head--so close,
indeed, that it cut off some of her grey hair.  But the old creature was
by no means frightened.

"Quick, jump in!" she cried, beginning to push off with her paddle.

Cheenbuk was on the point of accepting the invitation, but a thought
intervened--and thought is swifter than the lightning-flash.  He knew
from slight, but sufficient, experience that the spouters could send
only one messenger of death at a time, and that before another could be
spouted, some sort of manipulation which took time was needful.  If the
Indian should get the manipulation over before the oomiak was out of
range, any of the women, as well as himself, might be killed.

"No," he cried, giving the boat a mighty shove that sent it out to sea
like an arrow, "be off!--paddle!--for life!  I will stop him!"

Old Uleeta did not hesitate.  She was accustomed to obedience--even when
there were no fire-spouters astern.  She bent to her paddle with Arctic
skill and vigour.  So did her mates, and the oomiak darted from the
shore while the Indian who had fired the shot was still agonising with
his ramrod--for, happily, breech-loaders were as yet unknown.

Cheenbuk was quite alive to his danger.  He rushed up the beach towards
his foe with a roar and an expression of countenance that did not
facilitate loading.  Having left his spear in the body of the first
Indian, he was unarmed, but that did not matter much to one who felt in
his chest and arms the strength of Hercules and Samson rolled into one.
So close was he to the Indian when the operation of priming was reached,
that the man of the woods merely gave the stock of his gun a slap in the
desperate hope that it would prime itself.

This hope, in the artillery used there at that time, was not often a
vain hope.  Indeed, after prolonged use, the "trade gun" of the
"Nor'-west" got into the habit of priming itself--owing to the enlarged
nature of the touch-hole--also of expending not a little of its force
sidewise.  The consequence was that the charge ignited when the trigger
was pulled, and the echoes of the cliffs were once more awakened; but
happily the Eskimo had closed in time.  Grasping the barrel he turned
the muzzle aside, and the ball that was meant for his heart went
skipping out to sea, to the no small surprise of the women in the
oomiak.

And now, for the second time since he had landed on those shores, was
Cheenbuk engaged in the hated work of a hand-to-hand conflict with a
foe!

But the conditions were very different, for Alizay was no match for the
powerful Eskimo--in physique at least, though doubtless he was not much,
if at all, behind him in courage.

Cheenbuk felt this the moment they joined issue, and on the instant an
irresistible sensation of mercy overwhelmed him.  Holding the gun with
his right hand, and keeping its muzzle well to one side, for he did not
feel quite certain as to its spouting capacities, he grasped the
Indian's throat with his left.  Quick as lightning Alizay, with his free
hand, drew his scalping-knife and struck at the Eskimo's shoulder, but
not less quick was Cheenbuk in releasing the throat and catching the
Indian's wrist with a grip that rendered it powerless.

For a minute the Eskimo remained motionless, considering how best to
render his adversary insensible without killing him.

That minute cost him dear.  Five of Alizay's comrades, led by Magadar,
came upon the scene, and, as it happened, Cheenbuk's back chanced to be
towards them.  They did not dare to fire, for fear of hitting their
comrade, but they rushed unitedly forward with tomahawk and
scalping-knife ready.

"Take him alive," said Magadar.

Cheenbuk heard the voice.  He disposed of poor Alizay by hurling him
away as if he had been a child, and was in the act of facing round when
Magadar threw his arms round his body and held him.  To be seized thus
from behind is to most men a serious difficulty, but our Eskimo made
short work of his assailant.  He bent forward with his head to the
ground so violently that the Indian was flung completely over him, and
fell flat on his back, in which position he remained motionless.  But it
was impossible for Cheenbuk to cope with the other four Indians, who
flung themselves on him simultaneously, and seized him by arms, legs,
and throat.

Of course they could have brained or stabbed him easily, but,
remembering their chief's order to take the man alive, they sought to
quell him by sheer force.  Stout and sinewy though the four braves were,
they had their hands full during a good many minutes, for the Eskimo's
muscles were tougher and harder than india-rubber; his sinews resembled
whip-cord, and his bones bars of iron.  So completely was he overwhelmed
by the men who held him down, that little or nothing of him could be
seen, yet ever and anon, as he struggled, the four men seemed to be
heaved upward by a small earthquake.

Alizay, who had risen, stood looking calmly on, but rendered no
assistance, first, because there was no room for him to act, and second,
because his left wrist had been almost broken by the violence of the
throw that he had received.  As for Magadar, he was only beginning to
recover consciousness, and to wonder where he was!

Suddenly Cheenbuk ceased to strive.  He was a crafty Eskimo, and a
thought had occurred to him.  He would sham exhaustion, and, when his
foes relaxed their grip, would burst away from them.  He knew it was a
forlorn hope, for he was well aware that, even if he should succeed in
getting away, the spouters would send messengers to arrest him before he
had run far.  But Cheenbuk was just the man for a forlorn hope.  He rose
to difficulties and dangers as trouts to flies on a warm day.  The
Indians, however, were much too experienced warriors to be caught in
that way.  They eased off their grip with great caution.  Moreover
Magadar, having risen, and seeing how things were going, took off his
belt and made a running noose of it.  He passed the loop deftly round
Cheenbuk's legs and drew it tight, while the others were still trying
vainly to compress his bull-neck.

The moment that Cheenbuk felt the noose tighten on his legs he knew that
it was all over with him.  To run or fight with his legs tied would be
impossible, so, like a true philosopher, he submitted to the inevitable
and gave in.  His captors, however, did not deem it wise or safe to
relax their hold until they had swathed his body with deerskin thongs;
then they removed the belt from his legs and assisted him to rise.

It is not the custom of Indians to indulge in much conversation with
vanquished foes.  They usually confine their attentions to scowling,
torturing, and ultimately to killing and scalping them.  The Dogribs who
had captured Cheenbuk could not speak the Eskimo tongue, and being
unaware of his linguistic powers, did not think it possible to speak to
him, but one of their number stood by him on guard while the others dug
a grave and buried the Indian whom he had slain.

We have already made reference to our young Eskimo's unusually advanced
views in regard to several matters that do not often--as far as we
know--exercise the aboriginal mind.  While he stood there watching the
Indians, as they silently toiled at the grave, his thoughts ran somewhat
in the following groove:--

"Poor man!  Sorry I killed him, but if I had not he would have killed
me--and then, perhaps, some of the women, for they had not got far away,
and I don't know how far the spouter can send its little arrows.  I
wonder if they _are_ little.  They must be surely, for I've never seen
one.  Hoi! hoi! what fools men are to kill one another!  How much better
to let each other alone!  I have killed _him_, poor man! and they will
kill me.  What then?  The ice and snow will come and go all the same.
No one will be the better for it when we are gone.  Some will surely be
the worse.  Some wife or mother may have to rub her eyes for him.  No
one will care much for _me_.  But the walrus and the seal-hunt will not
be so big when I am gone.  I wonder if the Maker of all cares for these
things!  He must--else he would not have made us and put us here!  Did
he make us to fight each other?  Surely not.  Even I would not shape my
spear to destroy my kayak--and he must be wiser than me.  Yet he never
speaks or shows himself.  If I had a little child, would I treat it so?
No--I must be wrong, and he must be right.  Speech is not always with
the tongue.  Now it comes to my mind that we speak with the eyes when we
look fierce or pleased.  Perhaps he whispers to me inside, sometimes,
and I have not yet learned to understand him."

Cheenbuk had now dropped into one of his frequent reveries, or trains of
thought, in which he was apt to forget all that was going on around him,
and he did not waken from it until, the burial being concluded, one of
the Indians touched him on the shoulder and pointed to Magadar, who had
shouldered his gun and was entering the bushes.

Understanding this to be a command to follow, he stepped out at once.
The others fell into line behind him, and thus, bound and a captive, our
Eskimo turned his back finally--as he believed--on what we may style his
native home--the great, mysterious northern sea.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

FLIGHT AND MISFORTUNE.

While the scene we have described was being enacted, the other Indians,
who had crossed the neck of land for the purpose of cutting off the men
in the kayaks, failed in the attempt, partly owing to the distance being
greater than their memories had assigned to it, and partly to the great
speed of the kayaks when propelled by strong men fleeing for their
lives.

All the kayaks were well out of gunshot range when the shore was
reached, except one which lagged behind.  At this one the Indians
discharged several volleys, but without effect, and soon after, it also
was beyond range.

The little vessel which thus lagged behind belonged to the unfortunate
Gartok, whose leg, it will be remembered, was wounded by one of the
balls discharged by Alizay.  Despite his energy, and desperate though
the situation was, Gartok could not overcome the depressing influence of
pain and haemorrhage.  He fell gradually behind the others, each of whom
was too anxious about his own safety to think much of his comrades.

When the firing ceased and the flotilla was well out of range, Gartok
laid down his paddle and bound up his wounded limb with some scraps of
seal-skin; at the same time, hailing the kayak nearest to him.  As soon
as it was discovered that their chief was wounded, all the Eskimos came
clustering round him.  Among them was his lieutenant Ondikik.

"You also are wounded," said Gartok, observing the pallor of his face.

"Yes; I can find no arrow, but there is blood."

"Is it bad?" asked the chief, with an angry exclamation at their
misfortune.

"I cannot tell," replied Ondikik, "but--"

He finished the sentence in the most expressive manner by fainting dead
away, and falling over to one side so heavily that he would have
infallibly upset the little craft if his comrades had not been close at
hand to prevent that catastrophe.

"Hail the oomiak!" cried Gartok, in a voice that, for him, felt
singularly feeble.  "Put him into it, and let two of the women change
with two of the men."

In a few minutes the women's large open boat was alongside, and poor
Ondikik was, with some difficulty, transferred to it.  Two men then gave
up their kayaks to two of the women, and took their places in the
oomiak.  While this was being done some of the people gave a shout of
alarm, for it was observed that Gartok himself had quietly fallen back
in a state of insensibility.

The men, therefore, lifted him also out of his kayak and laid him beside
his lieutenant.

This accomplished, the little fleet paddled out to sea, and they soon
lost sight of the Arctic shore.  They did not again pause until they
reached a group of small islets, on one of which they encamped for the
night.

Fortunately the weather at this time was calm and warm, so that those
hardy inhabitants of the icy north required no better lodging or bed
than the cold ground, with the star-spangled sky for curtains.  With
lamps flaring, seal-steaks and wild-fowl simmering, and hot oil flowing,
they quickly made themselves comfortable--with the exception, of course,
of the warlike Gartok and the hot-headed Ondikik.  These two, being
fellow-sufferers, were laid beside each other, in order, perhaps, to
facilitate mutual condolence.  To do them justice, they did not grumble
much at their fate, but entertained each other with a running commentary
on the events of the day.

"And that is strange news that my old mother tells me," resumed Gartok,
after a short pause in the conversation.  "Cheenbuk must have given the
Fire-spouters sore heads from the way he gripped them."

"I wish I had been there," growled Ondikik.

"I'm glad I was _not_ there," returned Gartok.  "I could not have saved
him from so many, and it would not have been pleasant to go into
slavery--if not to torture and death.  Poor Cheenbuk! he was ever
against war--yet war has been forced on him.  I fear we shall never see
him again.  Hoi! my leg is bad.  I can't understand how the
Fire-spouters could hit it without the little thing going through my
back first."

"I wish all the Fire-spouters were deep in the inside of a whale's
belly," growled Ondikik, whose wound was beginning to render him
feverish and rusty.  "Arrows and spears can be pulled out, but when the
little spouter things go in we don't know where they go to.  They
disappear and leave an ugly hole behind them."

At this point Raventik, on whom the command had devolved, came forward
with a choice piece of juicy walrus blubber on a flat stone for a plate.

"Our chiefs will eat," he said, "it will do them good--make their hearts
strong and ease the wounds."

"No," said Gartok decisively, "none for me."

"Take it away!" cried the other sharply.

"No?" exclaimed Raventik in surprise.  You see, he had never in his life
been wounded or ill, and could not understand the possibility of
refusing food, except when too full of it.  Being a sympathetic soul,
however, he pressed it on the invalids, but received replies so very
discouraging that he was induced to forbear.

Old Uleeta turned out to be a more intelligent, it not more kindly,
nurse.  After she had eaten her supper and succeeded in bolting the last
bite that had refused to go down when she could eat no more, she came
forward with a bladder full of water, and some rabbit-skins, for the
purpose of dressing the wounds.

"Gently, mother," said Gartok with a suppressed groan, "you lay hold of
me as if I were a seal."

"You are quite as self-willed, my son," replied the old woman.  "If you
had not gone out to fight you would not have come back with a hole in
your leg."

"If I had not come into the world I should not have been here to trouble
you, mother."

"There's truth in that, my son," returned the woman, as if the idea were
new to her.

At this Ondikik groaned--whether at the contemptibly obvious character
of the idea, or at ideas in general, or in consequence of pain, we
cannot tell.

"You said, mother, that Cheenbuk gave them a good deal of trouble?"

"Ay, he gave them sore hearts and sore bodies."

"They deserved it! what right had they to come with their fire-spouters
to attack us?"

"What right had you to go without your fire-spouters to attack _them_?"
demanded old Uleeta, somewhat maliciously.

Gartok, who was destitute neither of intelligence nor of humour,
laughed, but the laugh slid into a most emphatic "hoi!" as his mother
gave the leg a wrench.

"Softly, mother, softly!  Treat me as you did when I was so big," he
exclaimed, indicating about one foot six between his hands.

The old woman chuckled, or rather "hee! hee'd!" a little and continued:

"Yes, Cheenbuk fought like a bear.  We could not see him, for they were
all on top of him at once, but hi! how he made them heave!  I wonder
they did not use their knives."

"They felt sure they had him," said her son, "they wanted to drive him
to their huts and kill him slowly to amuse their women."

This was such a horrible idea that the old woman became unusually grave.

"These Fire-spouters are worse than white bears," she said, "for these
never torture other beasts, though they often kill them."

"True, mother.  Now I wish you would go away and leave my leg alone.
Ondikik there needs your help.  Go to him and hurt him as much as you
please.  I won't grumble."

"You were always a thankless boy--ever since you could speak," replied
the dame, reproachfully.

"Did you ever hear of any one being thankless before he could speak?--
hoi! mother, you've tied it too tight.  Slack it a little."

After complying with her son's request, old Uleeta went to Ondikik, to
whom, however, she could render but little service, owing to the nature
of his wound.  Then she paid a visit to Rinka, whose injuries, however,
proved to be more alarming than severe; after which she joined the rest
of the tribe at supper.

While the Eskimos were thus proceeding to their home among the islands
of the Arctic sea, the captors of Cheenbuk were paddling up-stream to
the lands of the Dogrib Indians.

At first the stout Eskimo meditated an attempt to escape.  Indeed he
made one vigorous effort when they were leading him through the bush
with his hands tied behind him.  Just as they came to the place where
the canoes were lying, the thought of home, and of his probable fate as
a prisoner, pressed so heavily on him that he suddenly became furious,
tripped up the man beside him with his foot, kicked over the one behind
him with his heel, ran his head like a battering-ram into the back of
the man in front of him, and then strove to burst his bonds with a
succession of mighty wriggles, but, not being quite equal to Samson, he
failed, and on seeing that two savages stood over him with drawn
scalping-knives, while Magadar put the muzzle of a gun to his head, he
deemed it wise to give in and uttered the exclamation "hoi!" with the
air of one who feels that his game is played out.  He marched forward
after that in submissive silence.

On reaching the canoes, however, a fresh burst of indignation assailed
him, and for a moment he meditated sending his foot through the bottom
of the frail craft which was to carry him into exile, but on second
thoughts he decided to delay the performance of that violent measure
till they were well out in the middle of the current, when there would
be the chance of drowning some of his foes as well as himself.  By the
time the desired position was reached, however, his spirit had calmed
down a little and his philosophic mind--to say nothing of his heart--had
begun to suggest the uselessness of gratifying his feelings by a revenge
which he probably could not enjoy much while in the process of drowning,
and, doubtless, could not enjoy at all after he was drowned.

Thus it came to pass that our hero restrained his passions, and, in
process of time, found himself a prisoner in one of the lodges of the
Dogrib Indians.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

IN THE HOUR OF NEED.

On reaching the Indian village Cheenbuk was firmly bound to a tree a
little way outside the camp, and left there to his meditations, while
his captors went to the old chief's tent to hold a council.

Meanwhile the women and children went to look at the captive.  Among
them were Adolay and her mother.  The moment the former set eyes on
Cheenbuk she recognised him as the youth who had rescued her mother from
drowning the previous year.

"Mother," she whispered, drawing her parent aside, "that is him!  Don't
you remember him?"

"I think it is," returned Isquay, gazing steadily at the Eskimo, who
looked at the crowd which surrounded him with a gaze of supreme
contempt, though he did not by any means feel contemptuous.

"Come, mother," said Adolay, with sudden earnestness, "he has not
recognised us in the crowd.  I must go and find out what the braves are
palavering."

As she spoke she drew her mother towards their own lodge, and there left
her while she hurried on to the council-tent.  In the shelter of some
bushes she crept as near to it as possible.

There was no difficulty in making out what was said, for the warriors
made no secret of their intentions, and spoke in loud tones.

"He shall die," was the remark of Alizay just as the girl came within
hearing, "he has killed one of our braves."

"Ay, and he shall die by torture," said Magadar, who was a relation of
the man that had been slain.

"Ho! ho!" exclaimed most of the warriors in tones of approval, but there
were a few among them who were silent.  They leaned to mercy's side.

"Better to spare his life and make a slave of him," said one of these,
"we can keep him always tied like a bad dog till we need him; then we
can loose his legs and make him drag our sledges."

"The brave who has spoken is young," said the old chief.  "He does not
know much about men.  Will not the Eskimo watch for his chance, get free
from his bonds, kill some of us when we are off our guard, and, perhaps,
escape?"

"That is so.  He must be killed," remarked Magadar, with a glance of
scorn at the merciful youth, "and the sooner the better."

"Let us do it at once," said one of the blood-thirsty.

On hearing this the heart of Adolay beat anxiously, and for a few
moments she was undecided whether to run to the tree to which the Eskimo
was bound and set him free by cutting his bonds, or enter the
council-tent, tell the story of his having saved her mother's life, and
plead that the youth's might be spared.  Both courses, she knew, were
about equally desperate.  If she were to follow the first, all the
children would see her do it, and give the alarm, in which case the
Eskimo would be pursued and certainly recaptured, for a fugitive in a
strange country would have no chance with men well acquainted with every
nook and corner of their native land.  Besides which, she knew not what
terrible punishment might be inflicted on herself for making such an
attempt.  On the other hand, for a woman to violate the sanctity of a
council-tent was so unprecedented that she felt sure it would be sternly
resented, and, therefore, useless.

Fortunately she was saved the necessity of acting on either alternative
by the arguments of the next speaker, who was one of the blood-thirsty
braves.

"Let us not be in haste like women and children," he said; "if we leave
him bound to the tree all night he will have time to think of the fate
that is coming, and we shall have good sunlight in the morning, which
will enable even the oldest squaw to see well."

After some palaver it was agreed that the execution of Cheenbuk should
be postponed to the following day, and that a sentinel should be posted
beside him during the night to make sure that he did not manage to undo
his fastenings and escape.

On hearing this decision arrived at, Adolay crept back into the bush and
hastened to her mother's tent.

"They have fixed to kill him, mother," she exclaimed, anxiously, on
entering.

"I expected that, and I'm sorry," returned Isquay, "but we cannot help
it.  What can women do?  The men will not mind what I say.  If only
Nazinred was here they would listen to _him_, but--"

"Yes, they always listen to father," interrupted the girl, with an
anxious frown on her pretty brows, "but as father is not here you must
do what you can for the man."

"You are very fond of him!" said the squaw with a keen look at her
daughter.

"Yes, I am very fond of him," replied Adolay with an air of unblushing
candour, "and I think, mother, that you should be fond of him too."

"So I am, girl, so I am, but what can I do?"

"You can go and tell the story to the old chief.  He is not hard, like
some of the young men.  Perhaps he may help us."

Isquay shook her head, but nevertheless agreed to try her influence with
the old man, and went out for that purpose.

Meanwhile Adolay, who had not herself much faith in her mother's
advocacy of the poor Eskimo's cause, resolved upon a separate course of
action.  Throwing a blanket over her head and shoulders, she started for
the place where Cheenbuk stood, scornfully regarding the little boys who
surrounded and insulted him by flourishing knives and hatchets close to
his defenceless nose.  They did not, however, dare to touch him, as the
time had not yet arrived for actual torture.

Running forward, Adolay, who was a favourite with the young people,
drove them back.

"Keep clear of him," she cried with a fierce glare in her eyes--which
was wonderfully realistic, considering that it was a mere piece of
acting--"I want to speak to him--to terrify him--to fill him with
horror!"

This was quite to the taste of the wretched little creatures, who fell
back in a semi-circle and waited for more.

"Can you understand my speech?" she demanded as she turned on Cheenbuk
with flashing eyes.

The Eskimo thought he had never seen such magnificent eyes before, and
wished much that they would look on him more kindly.

"Yes," he replied, "I understand a little."

"Listen, then," cried Adolay in a loud tone, and with looks more furious
than before.  "You are to die to-morrow."

"I expected it would be to-night," replied Cheenbuk calmly.

"And you are to be tortured to death!"  At this the boys set up a howl
of delight.  At the same time the girl advanced a step nearer the
captive, and said in a low voice hurriedly:

"I will save you.  Be ready to act--to-night."  The softened look and
altered tone opened the eyes of the captive.  Although the blanket
partially concealed Adolay's face, Cheenbuk at once recognised the girl
whose mother he had saved the previous spring.

"I am awake!" he said quietly, but with a glance of bright intelligence.

"Yes, you are doomed to die," continued Adolay, when the boys' howling
had subsided, "and if you are to be tortured, we will all come to see
how brave you are."

As she said this she went close up to the captive, as if to make her
words more emphatic, and shook her little fist in his face.  Then--in a
low voice--"You see the cliff behind me, with the dead tree below it?"

"Yes."

"Run for that tree when you are free--and _wait_."

Turning round, as though her rage was satisfied for the time being,
Adolay left the spot with a dark frown on her face.

"Leave him now, boys," she said in passing.  "Give him time to think
about to-morrow."

Whether it was the effect of this advice, or the fact that the shades of
evening were falling, and a feeding-time was at hand, we cannot say, but
in a short time Cheenbuk was left to his meditations.  He was, however,
quite within sight of several of the lodges.  As the daylight gradually
faded a young brave left his tent, and, shouldering his gun, went to the
place where the captive was bound.  Examining the bonds to make sure
that they were secure, the youth carefully renewed the priming of his
weapon, shouldered it, and began to pace to and fro.  His mode of
proceeding was to walk up to the captive, take a look at him, turn
round, and walk about thirty or forty yards away from him, and so on to
and fro without halt or variation for upwards of two hours.  During all
that time he uttered no word to the Eskimo.

Cheenbuk, on his part, took no notice whatever of his guard, but stood
perfectly still and looked with calm, lofty indifference over his head--
which he was well able to do, being a considerably taller man.

As the night advanced the darkness deepened, and the poor captive began
to entertain serious misgivings as to his prospects.  Would the girl try
to carry out the plan, whatever it was?  Yes, he had not the slightest
doubt on that head, because, somehow, she had inspired him with a
confidence that he had never felt in woman before.  But would she be
able to carry out her plan?  That was quite another question.  Then, the
darkness had become so intense that he could barely see the outline of
the cliff towards which he was to run, and could not see the dead tree
at all.  Moreover, it occurred to him that it would be impossible even
to walk, much less to run, over unknown and perhaps rough ground in
darkness so great that he could hardly see the trees around him; and
could only make out the whites of the sentinel's eyes when he came close
up.

It was therefore with a feeling of relief that he at length observed a
faint glow of light in the sky, which indicated the rising of the moon.

Soon afterwards a dark figure was seen approaching.  It was Alizay, the
blood-thirsty brave, who had come to relieve guard.



CHAPTER NINE.

TRYING MOMENTS AND PERPLEXING DOUBTS.

The first thing that the new sentinel did was carefully to examine the
cords that bound the captive to the tree, and tie one or two additional
knots to make him more secure.  Then he turned to the other Indian, and
asked sharply:--

"Has he been quiet?"

"Quiet as the tree to which he is bound."

"Has he uttered speech?"

"No."

"Good.  You may go.  I will watch him till morning: after that he will
need no more watching."

Alizay looked sharply at the Eskimo while he uttered these words,
perhaps to ascertain whether he understood their drift, but Cheenbuk's
visage was immovable, and his eyes were fixed, as if in meditation, on
the moon, which just then was beginning to rise over the cliffs and shed
a softened light over the Indian village.

The new sentinel shouldered his gun and began his vigil, while the other
left them.

But other ears had listened to the concluding words of Alizay.

The tree to which the Eskimo was bound stood close to the edge of the
bush, or underwood.  In front of it was an open space, up and down which
the sentinel marched.  Had the Indian dreamed of a traitor in the camp
he would not have deemed the captive's position as secure as it should
be, but the idea of any one in the village favouring a contemptible
eater-of-raw-flesh never once entered his imagination.

Nevertheless, Adolay was in the bush behind the tree, and not only heard
his words, but saw his movements.  Watching her opportunity when the
sentinel had just turned and was marching away from the tree, she cut,
with a scalping-knife, the cord that bound Cheenbuk's right arm and
placed the knife in his hand.  Almost at the same moment she slipped
back into the bush.

Cheenbuk made no attempt, however, to free himself.  The sentinel's beat
was too short to permit of his doing so without being observed.  He
therefore remained perfectly motionless in his former attitude.

It was a trying moment when the Indian approached to within a couple of
feet and looked him straight in the face, as was his wont at each turn.
But Cheenbuk was gifted with nerves of steel.  His contemplation of the
moon was so absorbing, that a civilised observer might have mistaken him
for an astronomer or a lunatic.  Alizay suspected nothing.  He turned
round, and the Eskimo allowed him to take about five paces before he
moved.  Then, with the speed of lightning, he ran the sharp blade down
his side, severing all his bonds at one sweep.

Next moment he was free, but he instantly resumed his former position
and attitude until his guard was within a yard of him.  Then he sprang
upon him, dropped the knife and seized him by the throat with both
hands, so tightly that he was quite incapable of uttering a cry.

Alizay made a vigorous struggle for life, but he had no chance with the
burly Eskimo, who quickly decided the fight by giving his adversary a
blow with his fist that laid him insensible on the ground.

Springing over his prostrate form he ran straight for the cliff that
Adolay had pointed out to him, leaping over fallen trees, and across
what looked like young chasms, in a state of reckless uncertainty as to
whether he would plunge into ponds or land at the bottom of precipices.
With a feeling of absolute confidence that the girl with the lustrous
eyes would not have told him to run where the feat was impossible, he
held on until he reached the bottom of the cliff and stood beside the
dead tree unhurt, though considerably winded.

There he resolved to wait according to orders.  To most ordinary men,
waiting, when they are filled with anxiety, is much more trying than
energetic action.  But Cheenbuk was not an ordinary man, therefore he
waited like a hero.

Meanwhile Adolay, having seen the Eskimo fairly in grips with the
sentinel, ran swiftly back towards the village, intending, before going
to Cheenbuk at the cliff, to let her mother know what she had done, and
what she still purposed to do--namely to embark with the Eskimo in a
birch-bark canoe, guide him across the small lake that lay near the
village, and show him the rivulet that would lead him into the Greygoose
River.  But she had not gone far, when, on turning a bush, she almost
ran into the arms of a young Indian girl named Idazoo, an event which
upset all her plans and perplexed her not a little--all the more that
this girl was jealous of her, believing that she was trying to steal
from her the affections of Alizay, whom she regarded as her own young
man!

"Why run you so fast?" asked the girl, as Adolay stood panting before
her.  "Have you seen a bad spirit?"

"Yes, I have seen a bad spirit," answered Adolay, (thinking of Alizay),
"I have seen two bad spirits," she added, (thinking of Idazoo).  "But I
cannot stop to tell you.  I have to--to--go to see--something very
strange to-night."

Now it must be told that Idazoo was gifted with a very large bump of
curiosity, and a still larger one, perhaps, of suspicion.  The brave
Alizay, she knew, was to mount guard over the Eskimo captive that night,
and she had a suspicion that Adolay had taken advantage of that fact to
pay the captive--not the Indian, oh dear no!--a visit.  Unable to rest
quietly in her tent under the powerful influence of this idea, she
resolved to take a walk herself--a sort of moonlight ramble as it were--
in that direction.  As we have seen, she met her friend, not
unexpectedly, on the way.

"I will go with you," she said, "to see this strange thing, whatever it
be.  There may be danger; two are better than one, and, you know, I am
not easily frightened."

Poor Adolay was dismayed by this proposition, and hurried forward, but
Idazoo kept pace with her.  Suddenly she made up her mind, and, changing
her direction, made for the cliff at a rapid run, closely followed by
her jealous friend, who was resolved to see the mystery out.

She purposely led her companion round in such a way that they came
suddenly upon the waiting Eskimo, whose speaking visage betrayed his
surprise at seeing two girls instead of one.

On beholding Cheenbuk standing there unbound, Idazoo stopped short, drew
back, and gazed at him in alarm as well as surprise.

"You have now seen the strange sight I spoke of, but you must not tell
it in the lodges," said Adolay.

Without answering her, Idazoo turned to fly, but Adolay grasped her by
the wrist and held her tight--at the same time motioning with her hand
to Cheenbuk.

The Eskimo was prompt as well as intelligent.  He did not wait for
explanations or allow surprise to delay him.  With a bound he was beside
the girls, had grasped Idazoo, and looked to Adolay for further
instructions.

"Hold her till I tie up her hands," she said, drawing a stout line of
deerskin from a pocket in the breast of her dress.

With this she proceeded to bind her inquisitive friend's wrists.
Perceiving that she was to be made a captive, the girl opened her mouth
and began a shriek, which, had it been allowed full play, would no doubt
have reached her friends in the village, but Cheenbuk had observed the
intention, and before the first note had struggled into being, he
clapped his hand on her mouth and quenched it.  Idazoo wore round her
neck a brightly  cotton kerchief, such as the fur-traders of
those days furnished for barter with the Indians.  Cheenbuk quietly
plucked this off her neck and tied it firmly round her face and mouth so
as to effectually gag her.  This done they fastened her to the stem of
the dead tree.

The whole operation was performed without unnecessary rudeness, and with
great celerity.

"Now, Idazoo," said Adolay, when they had finished, "you have done me
great injury this night.  I am sorry to treat you in this way, but I
cannot help it.  You _would_ come with me, you know.  If I could trust
you even now, I would take the cloth off your mouth, but I dare not, you
might yell, and everybody knows you were never good at keeping your
promises.  But it does not matter much.  The handkerchief is not too
tight to prevent the air getting up your nose--and it will give your
tongue a rest, which it needs.  Besides, the night is not cold, and as
our braves pass here every morning when starting off to hunt, you will
soon be set free."

The Eskimo showed all his brilliant teeth from ear to ear while this
little speech was being made.  Then he accompanied Adolay through the
bush until they reached the shores of a small lake, beside which a
birch-bark canoe was lying, partly in the water.  At an earlier part of
that evening the girl had placed the canoe there, and put into it
weapons and provisions suitable for a considerable voyage.

"You have got this ready for me?" said Cheenbuk.

"Yes.  You saved my mother's life once, and I will save yours," replied
the girl, pointing to the bow of the canoe as if ordering him to embark.

"Are you going with me?" asked the youth, with a look of hopeful
surprise and a very slight flutter of the heart.

"You do not know the lake.  I will guide you to the place where the
little river runs out of it, and then, by following that, you will get
into Greygoose River, which I think you know."

The Eskimo's heart ceased to flutter, and the hope died out of his
expressive eyes as he said, still hesitating, "But--but--I am very heavy
and you are very light.  A canoe does not go well with its head deep in
the water.  Don't you think that I should sit behind and steer?"

"And where would you steer to?" asked Adolay, with a somewhat pert
smile.  "Besides, look there," she added, pointing to the stern of the
little craft, "do Eskimos not use their eyes?"

Cheenbuk used his eyes as directed, and saw that a heavy stone had been
placed in the stern so as to counteract the difference of weight.  With
an air of humility, therefore, he stepped into his allotted place, took
up a paddle and sat down.  Adolay pushed the craft into deeper water,
stepped lightly in, and, giving a vigorous shove, sent it skimming out
on the lake.  Then the two dipped their paddles with a will, and shot
over the water like an arrow.

Profound silence was maintained until the other end of the lake was
reached, when the moon came out from a bank of clouds and enabled the
girl to find the reedy source of the little river without difficulty.

"We will land here and lift the canoe past the reeds," she said,
steering the little craft to the side of a grassy bank.

Walking along this bank, and guiding the canoe with their hands, they
soon came to an open space in the forest, whence they could see the
rivulet winding like a thread of silver through the land in front of
them.

"This is the place where we must part," said Adolay with a sudden
determination of manner which surprised and puzzled the Eskimo.  "You
have now no further need for me.  You have only to go straight on with
the running of the water.  There are only two falls on the way, but you
will hear the noise before you come to them, and you have only to lift
the canoe a short way through the bush to the still water below the
falls.  Our braves often do that; you will find it quite easy."

"I know something of that," returned Cheenbuk; "we have no falls in our
great salt lake, but we have plenty big lumps of ice, and when these are
like to crush together we have to jump out of our kayaks and lift them
out of the water--ho! and we do it quick too, sometimes, or we get
squeezed flat.  But if I go on with the canoe how will you get home?
You cannot swim back."

"I can walk round the lake.  Are the Eskimo girls not able to walk, that
you ask such a question?" said the girl, raising her dark eyes with
something of an amused look to the face of her companion, who was
looking anxiously down at her.

"Oh yes, they can walk well.  Ay, and run too when needful.  But--but--
I'm sorry that we must part.  Must!--why must?"

The youth said this in a meditative tone, for it had occurred to him for
a moment that the girl was now in his power; that he could compel her to
get into the bow of the canoe, and might steer her to his home at
Waruskeek if he chose, whether she would or no.  But Cheenbuk's soul was
chivalrous.  He was far in advance of his kindred and his times.  He
scorned himself for having even thought of such a thing for a moment;
and it was with an air of profound humility that he continued--

"Must--of course you must.  One of the young braves would have a sore
heart if you did not return."

"No one that I know of," she replied quickly.  "I care not for the
braves; but my mother would have a sore heart if I did not return.  Yet
I fear to go back, for that Idazoo will tell, and perhaps they will kill
me for helping you to escape."

"Then you must _not_ go back," said the Eskimo stoutly.  "Come with me
and I will take good care of you."

"No, I cannot," returned the girl thoughtfully; I cannot forsake my
mother and father in such a way without even a word at parting.

"What is your name?" asked the youth promptly.  "Mine is Cheenbuk."

"They call me Adolay; that, in our language, means the summer-time."

"Well, Adolay, I don't know what my name, Cheenbuk, means--perhaps it
means winter-time.  Anyhow, listen to me.  If there is any chance of you
being killed you must _not_ go back.  I will take you to my mother's
igloe and you will live with her."

"Have you, too, got a mother?" asked Adolay with interest.

"Ho! yes; and a father too--and they're both fat and heavy and kind.
When they come to know that you have been so kind to me, they will
receive you with joy."

"No," said Adolay, shaking her small head decidedly, "I _will_ not go.
They may kill me if they like, but I will never forsake my mother."

"Are you determined?"

"Yes--for sure."

"Then so am I," said Cheenbuk, taking hold of the canoe and turning the
bow up-stream.  "Get in, Adolay, and we will return to the lodges of
your people and die together."

Cheenbuk had a way of saying and doing things that convinced his hearers
that he was thoroughly in earnest.  The Indian girl felt this, and
regretted much that she had said anything at all about her danger.  She
now tried to counteract the evil.

"What do you mean?" she said, anxiously.

"I mean that I am not afraid to go back and die with you."

"But it is not certain," she replied, "that they will kill me.  If my
father was at home they would not dare to do it, and perhaps they will
be afraid of his revenge when he comes back.  But for you there is no
chance at all.  They will be sure to kill you with slow tortures."

"I care not.  If I go back they will not be so likely to kill you.  But
listen to me, Adolay.  I have a thought.  If you come with me to my home
in Waruskeek I will take you safe to my father's igloe, and you shall
live with my mother and sister.  I will not ask you to be my squaw, but
you will stay with them till we collect a strong band of young men, when
we will go to visit your people and take you with us.  If they are
friendly--well, and we can traffic together.  If they receive us ill
there will be a fight--that is all.  I do not like fighting--but
whatever happens I promise that you shall be restored to your father and
mother.  Now, will you go?"

Adolay looked up earnestly into the grave countenance of the young man.
There could be no doubt of his thorough sincerity--she felt that--still,
she hesitated.  It was a bold step to take--even for an Indian heroine!

At that critical moment there broke upon their ears a distant sound that
caused them both to start and look round anxiously.  It was faint, and
so far away that at first they could make nothing of it.  A few seconds
later it was repeated louder than before.  Then a look of intelligence
broke over Adolay's countenance.

"I know!" she exclaimed, "Idazoo is shrieking!  We should have put the
cloth over her nose!  She has got her mouth free and--"

Another sharp yell rendered it needless for her to complete the
sentence.

"Come," she said, laying hands on the canoe.  "Turn it round.  We will
go!"

A few minutes more and the pair were flying down the swift current of
the little river as fast as they could dip their paddles in the stream.



CHAPTER TEN.

A WILD CHASE AND A BAD FAILURE.

It does not necessarily require the influences of civilised life to make
an honourable, upright man, any more than it needs the influences of
savage life to make a thorough scoundrel.  Of course the tendency of
civilisation is to elevate, of savagery to debase, nevertheless it is
certain that as we occasionally see blackguards in the highest ranks, so
we sometimes find men and women with exalted conceptions of right and
wrong in the lowest circles of life.

The truth would seem to be that the Spirit of God is not confined to
ranks or conditions of men--a fact that appears to be confirmed by the
Scripture statement that "in every nation he that feareth God and
worketh righteousness is acceptable to Him."

Cheenbuk's mind must assuredly have been influenced by a good spirit
when, after descending the little river at the utmost speed possible--so
as to render recapture for a time at least improbable--he directed his
companion to run the canoe on the bank in an eddy formed by a flat rock,
and then, against his own most earnest desires, advised Adolay to return
to her people.

"While we were paddling down-stream," he said, "I have been thinking
much, and I cannot believe that your people would be so hard as to kill
you for only helping a poor Eskimo to escape.  Now, I have changed my
mind.  I have often found that it is better to think more than once
before acting, if you have time to do so.  What I think now is, that we
should hide the canoe here, and return to your village on foot together.
When we get there--or when we meet them chasing us--you will go on, and
I will hide to see how they receive you, and if they receive you
kindly--as I feel sure they will do--I will return here to this spot,
take the canoe, and go to my home alone.  I cannot bear to take you from
your father and mother.  I think the Great Spirit, who is the father of
all, would be angry with me.  But I will not force you to return if you
are afraid."

"I am afraid," returned Adolay, quickly.  "You do not know how angry the
men will be: and you don't know how sharp their eyes are.  If you were
to return with me they would see you long before you could see them, and
would give you no chance to hide."

"Then there is nothing to be done but to go on," said Cheenbuk, with a
sigh which he loyally strove to vent as a sign of regret, but which
insisted on issuing forth as a distinct sound of satisfaction!

"You have promised to take me safe to your mother's igloe, and to bring
me back to my own home," said Adolay, with a look of confidence.  "I
will go on and trust you."

Without another word the Eskimo pushed off the head of the canoe, which
was caught by the current and swept down-stream.  Ere long they reached
the Greygoose River, and, paddling into the centre of the current, were
soon careering towards the sea at a pace which they thought rendered
their being overtaken almost impossible.  To make quite sure, however,
they continued the voyage far into the night, and did not land for a
very brief rest until the grey dawn had begun to appear over the eastern
tree-tops.

Being both somewhat fatigued by that time they scarcely uttered a word
as they encamped, but went about the work as if half asleep.  Cheenbuk
lifted the canoe out of the water and laid it on the bank, bottom up, in
which position it formed a rough and ready tent for his companion, who,
meanwhile, carried up the provisions.  Seated on the grass beside it
they ate a little dried venison, which required no cooking--uttering
only a monosyllable now and then with half-closed eyes, and sometimes
with an imbecile smile, which terminated occasionally in an irresistible
nod.  The feebleness of the light, too, as well as the quietness of the
hour, contributed not a little to this state of semi-consciousness.

The frugal supper having been washed down with a draught of water, from
Nature's own cup--the joined hands--Adolay lay down under the canoe.
Cheenbuk retired to a neighbouring spruce-fir and stretched himself
under its branches.  Need we add that sleep closed their eyelids
instantly?

But the Eskimo was much too experienced a hunter and warrior to allow
the drowsy god to enchain him long.  Like a dead log he lay for little
more than two hours, then he awoke with a start and stretched himself.

"Hoi!" he exclaimed sharply, looking towards the canoe, which was
distant from his lair about five or six yards.

The exclamation had scarcely passed his lips when Adolay sprang up, and
next moment went blinking, yawning, and stumbling down the bank with the
provisions under one arm, the paddles and weapons under the other.
Cheenbuk lifted the canoe and followed her.  In a few minutes they were
once more out in the middle of the strong current, paddling with might
and main.

Now, it was well that they had used such diligence in their flight, for
the pursuers were closer behind them than they had supposed.

When the unfortunate Alizay was felled by the Eskimo, as we have
described, he lay for a considerable time in a state of insensibility,
but he was by no means killed--not even seriously damaged--for
Cheenbuk's intense dislike to take life had not only induced him to drop
the knife with which the Indian girl had supplied him to cut his cords,
but inclined him to use his ponderous fist with moderation, so that
Alizay, on recovering, found himself none the worse, except for a severe
headache and an unnaturally large bridge to his nose.

Gathering himself up, and gradually swelling with rage as he reflected
on the treatment to which he had been subjected, he ran at full speed to
alarm the camp and begin a search.  But where were they to search?--that
was the question.  There were four points to the compass--though they
knew nothing about the compass--and the fugitive might have gone off in
the direction of any of these, or between them, and it was too dark a
night to permit of his trail being followed by sight, for, although the
moon might aid them in the open, it would be quite useless in the
darkness of the woods.

A hurried council was held, and a good deal of distracting advice given
while the young braves were arming themselves.  To add to their
perplexities, a lad rushed suddenly into the council-tent with glaring
eyes, saying that the girl Idazoo had disappeared from the village.
This news greatly increased the fury of Alizay, but he had scarcely
realised the truth when another lad, with, if possible, still more
glaring eyes and a gaping mouth, rushed in to tell that the girl Adolay
was also missing.  This blew up the agitation to a frenzy of
excitement--not usual among the Red men of the north--because the
necessity for prompt action was great, while the impossibility of doing
anything definite was greater.

It was just at this point, when the clamour was at its height, that a
sound was heard which instantly produced dead silence, while every man
and boy became as if petrified, with eyes enlarged and ears cocked to
listen.

Again the sound was heard--a distant yell undoubtedly, coming from the
direction of the cliff.

All the self-possession and promptitude of the Indians returned in a
moment.  In a second the braves glided out of the council-tent and
disappeared, each making a straight line for the sound, while the women
and children left behind listened with profound attention and
expectation.

There was no lack of guiding sounds now, for the moment Idazoo managed
to clear her mouth of the gag she began and continued a series of
shrieks and yells which were intensified in vigour by the fact that she
gradually became hysterical as well as wrathful.

The first to reach the spot was Alizay.  On beholding him the girl
stopped, and, after two or three exasperated echoes had finished their
remarks, a profound silence reigned.

Lovers among the Dogribs are not yet very gallant.  Civilisation may do
something for them, as to this, in time.

"You can make a noise!" said the youth, stepping up to her.

"I have reason to do so," replied the maiden, somewhat abashed.

"Did Adolay go with him?" asked Alizay as several of the other braves
ran up.

"Yes."

"Willingly?"

"Yes--she helped to tie me and showed him the way."

"Where did they go?"

"In the direction of the lake."

Instantly the whole band turned and ran off in the direction mentioned--
Alizay being last, as he paused just long enough to cut the bonds of
Idazoo, but left her to disentangle herself as she best could.

On reaching the shores of the lake the footsteps of the fugitives showed
clear in the moonlight, and the marks of launching the canoe were
visible, so that there was no further doubt as to what should be done.
The Indians knew well that there was only one outlet from the lake.
Their canoes were close by, and their guns and tomahawks in their hands.
Nothing therefore required to be done but to embark and give chase.
For this purpose two canoes were deemed sufficient, with three men in
each.

Magadar took charge of the leading canoe.  Alizay steered the other, and
the rest of the braves returned to the village to gloat over the news
that Idazoo had to tell, to feast on the produce of the previous day's
hunt, and to clear--or obfuscate--their intellects, more or less, with
their tobacco-pipes.

As the six pursuers were very wrathful, and pretty strong, they caused
their canoes to skim over the lake like swallows, and reached the head
of the little river not very long after the fugitives had left it.  A
stern chase, however, is proverbially a long one, and as they overhauled
the chase only inch by inch, there seemed little chance of overtaking it
that night.  The leaders, however, being men of great endurance,
resolved to carry on without rest as long as possible.  This they did
until about dawn--the same hour at which the fugitives had succumbed--
and both parties put ashore at last for a rest, neither being aware of
the fact that their separate camping-grounds were not more than three
miles apart!

Well was it then for Adolay that her stout protector was a light
sleeper, as well as a man of iron frame, and that he had aroused her
fully an hour and a half sooner than the time at which the Indians left
their camp to resume the chase.  It was well, also, that Cheenbuk
required but a short rest to recruit his strength and enable him to
resume the paddle with his full vigour.  The joy, also, consequent upon
the discovery that he loved the Indian girl, and that she had made up
her mind, without any persuasion on his part, to run away with him, lent
additional power to his strong back.  Perhaps, also, a sympathetic
feeling in the breast of the maiden added to the strength of her
well-formed and by no means feeble arm, so that many miles were soon
added to the three which intervened between the chasers and the chased.
To the horror of Adolay she found when she and Cheenbuk reached the
mouth of the river, that the sea was extensively blocked by masses of
ice, which extended out as far as the eye could reach.

Although thus encumbered, however, the sea was by no means choked up
with it, and to the gaze of the young Eskimo the ice presented no
insurmountable obstacle, for his experienced eye could trace leads and
lanes of open water as far as the first group of distant islets, which
lay like scarce perceptible specks on the horizon.

But to the inexperienced eye of the girl the scene was one of hopeless
confusion, and it filled her with sudden alarm and despair, though she
possessed more than the usual share of the Dogrib women's courage.
Observing her alarm, Cheenbuk gave her a look of encouragement, but
avoided telling her not to be afraid, for his admiration of her was too
profound to admit of his thinking that she could really be frightened,
whatever her looks might indicate.

"The ice is our friend to-day," he said, with a cheery smile, as they
stood together on the seashore beside their canoe, surveying the
magnificent scene of snowy field, fantastic hummock, massive berg, and
glittering pinnacle that lay spread out before them.

Adolay felt, but did not express surprise, for she was filled with a
most commendable trust in the truth and wisdom as well as the courage of
the man to whose care she had committed herself.

"If you say the ice is our friend, it must be so," she remarked quietly,
"but to the Indian girl it seems as if the ice was our foe, for she can
see no escape, and my people will be sure to follow us."

"Let them follow," returned Cheenbuk, with a quiet laugh, as he
re-arranged the lading of the canoe before continuing the voyage.  "They
won't follow beyond this place!"

Lifting out the big stone, which had formed a counterpoise to his
weight, he flung it on the beach.

"We will change places now, Adolay," he said, "you have guided our canoe
when on the inland waters; it is now my turn to steer, for I understand
the sea of ice.  Get in, we will start."

When Magadar and his comrades arrived at the mouth of the Greygoose
River and beheld the aspect of the sea, a cry of mingled surprise and
disappointment escaped them, but when they had landed and discovered the
canoe of the fugitives far away like a speck among the ice-floes, the
cry was transmuted into a howl of rage.

"Quick! embark!  Let us after them!" shouted Magadar.

"Death to them both!" yelled Alizay.

For a few minutes the Indians followed the lanes of open water, till
their turnings began to appear somewhat complicated; then the warlike
spirit became a little subdued.  Presently one of the Indians
discovered--or thought he discovered--that the lead of water was
narrowing, and that the ice was closing in.

Promptly both canoes were put about, and the shore was regained with
amazing speed.

After that the Dogribs paddled quietly up the Greygoose River, and
meekly returned to their woodland home.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

ENCAMPED ON THE ISLET.

It was with feelings of profound thankfulness and relief that Adolay
landed on the first of the islets, and surveyed the chaotic though
beautiful floes from which they had escaped.

And in truth Cheenbuk had required all his skill and experience more
than once to avoid the dangers by which they had been beset, for,
although the weather was perfectly calm and the ice nearly motionless,
they had frequently to pass through channels so narrow that the
slightest current might have caused a nip and obliged them to take
hurried refuge on the floes, while, at other times, when compelled to
pass rather close to the small bergs, lumps dropped into the water
perilously near to them from the overhanging ice-cliffs.

"There has been some danger," remarked the girl, turning to her
protector.

"All is well when it ends well," replied the Eskimo, nearly, but
unconsciously, quoting Shakespeare.  "But the danger was not very great,
for if the ice had closed in we could have jumped on it, and carried the
canoe to the nearest open water."

"But what if a lump had dropped into the canoe and sunk it?" asked
Adolay.

"We should have had to scramble on the floes and wait there till--till
we died together."

He said this with some degree of solemnity, for it was an uncomfortable
reflection.

"I would prefer,"--she stopped suddenly, for in the haste of the moment
she was going to have said--"that we should live together rather than
die together,"--but maiden modesty, not unfamiliar even among savages,
restrained her, and Cheenbuk, who was not observant in the matter of
imperfect speech, took no notice of the abrupt pause.

The evening was far advanced, for it had taken them the whole day to
reach the islet, owing to the windings of the lanes of water and the
frequency with which they had to turn back in consequence of having run
into what may be termed blind alleys.  It was resolved, therefore, that
they should rest there for the night.

As there was no fear, by that time, of their being pursued by Indians,
Cheenbuk resolved that they should have a good warm supper to recruit
their somewhat exhausted energies.  Of course Adolay was only too glad
to fall in with this arrangement, and said that she would go along the
shore and collect small masses of drift-wood for the fire, while her
companion lifted up the canoe and made the encampment.

"You will not find much drift-wood, I think," said Cheenbuk, as she was
about to set off, "for the currents don't set upon this island much.
The long point of the bigger island over there turns the currents off
from this one, but perhaps you may find a little."

Adolay found this to be true, for she wandered several miles along
shore--indeed, went nearly round the islet, which was a low rocky one,
almost devoid of verdure--before she had collected a good bundle of dry
sticks.

Meanwhile the Eskimo set to work with characteristic enthusiasm to
arrange the camp.  Choosing a spot where a low wall of rock sheltered
him from the north, he laid a few stones in a heap to mark the place for
the fire.  Then he carried up the canoe, and laid it down bottom up, so
as to face the fire.  Underneath it he made a snug nest of twigs and
leaves for Adolay to rest in.  Then, on the opposite side of the fire,
he made another lair--a sort of open-air nest--for himself, after which
he collected a good many of the small dead twigs among the scrub, which
he piled up in readiness around a large piece of drift timber he had the
good fortune to discover, not far from the spot where they landed.

This done, he stood back a few paces and admired his handiwork, his head
on one side with quite the air of a connoisseur.

Presently he began to wish that Adolay would return, and then sat down
to make fire by the slow and laborious Eskimo process of rubbing two
pieces of stick rapidly together until the friction should ignite them.
He was still absorbed in the work when the Indian girl returned with a
bundle of wood which she threw down beside the rest.

"You have had better luck than I expected," said Cheenbuk.  "See, I have
made you a nest to sleep in," he added, pointing to the canoe.

"It is very nice," she observed, with an appreciative smile.  "What are
you doing?"

"Making fire," he answered, resuming his work and continuing it with
such vigour that beads of perspiration stood on his brow.

Without speaking, the girl went to the canoe and opened a bundle wrapped
in deerskin which formed part of its lading.  She drew therefrom a
fire-bag, richly ornamented with beads, such as Indian chiefs and braves
are wont to carry under their belts.  It contained the pipe, tinder-box,
flint, steel, and tobacco which are usually supplied by the fur-traders
to the Red men.

Cheenbuk was so interested in the proceedings of his companion that he
ceased to carry on his own work, thereby allowing the sticks to cool and
losing his labour.

"You need not work so hard," said Adolay, taking a flint, steel, and
piece of tinder from the bag and, beginning to strike a light, to the
great interest of the Eskimo.  "We manage to get fire differently and
more easily."

In a few seconds a spark caught on the tinder, which began to smoke, and
the girl, wrapping it in a bundle of dry grass, whirled it round at
arm's-length until the draught caused it to burst into flame.  Thrusting
the burning mass into the heart of the twigs, which had been previously
prepared, she glanced up at her protector with a look that said plainly,
"Watch, now, the result."

But Cheenbuk required no encouragement to do so.  He had been watching
all the time with mouth, as well as eyes, wide-open, and a loud "hoi!
hoi! ho!" burst from him as the flame leaped up, suffusing the canoe and
wall of rock and the near objects with a ruddy glow which paled
everything else to a cold grey by contrast.

"I've seen that once before," exclaimed Cheenbuk with delight, taking up
the fire-bag tenderly, "and have often wished that I had these things
for making fire."

"Well, you may have them now.  They belonged to my father.  All our men
carry bags with these things in them."

"And I've seen this too--once," continued the youth, smiling, as he
pulled out a tobacco-pipe.  Then he bent his head suddenly, put his nose
to the bag, and made a face expressive of supreme disgust.

"Ho! and I've seen this too.  I have tasted it, and after tasting it I
was very miserable--so miserable that I hope never to be as miserable
again!"

As he spoke he looked at Adolay with that extreme solemnity which was
one of the characteristics of his face.

The girl returned the look, but did not smile.  She did not speak, but
waited for more.

"The man who showed me these things was a good man," continued Cheenbuk.
"I do not know his name, but I liked him much.  Yet I think he was not
wise to fill his mouth with smoke and his inside with sickness."

"Was he sick?" asked Adolay.

"No--he was not, but--I was."

While he was speaking he drew a long piece of Canada twist tobacco out
of the bag, and looked at it sagaciously for some time, nodding his head
as if he knew all about it.

"Yes, that is the thing he put in the pipe, and, after making a small
fire over it, drew the smoke into himself.  At first I thought he would
die, or catch fire and burst--but he--he didn't, and he seemed to like
it."

"All our men like it," said Adolay; "they smoke every day--sometimes all
day.  And some of our women like it too."

"Do _you_ like it?" asked the Eskimo, quickly.

"No, I don't like it."

"Good--that is well.  Now, we will cook some of your dried meat for
supper."

By that time the fire was blazing cheerily.  As the shades of night
deepened, the circle of light grew more and more ruddy until it seemed
like a warm cosy chamber in the heart of a cold grey setting.  A couple
of small stakes were thrust into the ground in such a way that the two
pieces of venison impaled on them were presented to the heart of the
fire.  Soon a frizzling sound was heard; then odours of a kind dear to
the hearts of hungry souls--to say nothing of their noses--began to
arise, and the couple thus curiously thrown together sat down side by
side to enjoy themselves, and supply the somewhat clamorous demands of
Nature.

They said little while feeding, but when the venison steaks had
well-nigh disappeared, a word or two began to pass to and fro.  At last
Cheenbuk arose, and, taking a small cup of birch-bark, which, with a
skin of water, formed part of the supplies provided by Adolay, he filled
it to the brim, and the two concluded their supper with the cheering
fluid.

"Ah!" sighed the girl, when she had disposed of her share, "the white
traders bring us a black stuff which we mix with water hot, and find it
very good to drink."

"Yes?  What is it?" asked Cheenbuk, applying his lips a second time with
infinite zest to the water.

"I know not what it is.  The white men call it tee," said Adolay,
dwelling with affectionate emphasis on the _ee's_.

"Ho!  I should like to taste that tee-ee," said the youth, with
exaggerated emphasis on the _ee's_.  "Is it better than water?"

"I'm not sure of that," answered the girl, with a gaze of uncertainty at
the fire, "but we like it better than water--the women do; the men are
fonder of fire-water, when they can get it, but the white traders seldom
give us any, and they never give us much.  We women are very glad of
that, for the fire-water makes our men mad and wish to fight.  Tee, when
we take too much of it--which we always do--only makes us sick."

"Strange," said Cheenbuk, with a look of profundity worthy of Solomon,
"that your people should be so fond of smokes and drinks that make them
sick and mad when they have so much of the sparkling water that makes us
comfortable!"

Adolay made no reply to this, for her mind was not by nature
philosophically disposed, though she was intelligent enough to admire
the sagacity of a remark that seemed to her fraught with illimitable
significance.

"Have you any more strange things in your bundle?" asked the Eskimo,
whose curiosity was awakened by what had already been extracted from it.
"Have you some of the tee, or the fire-water, or any more of the thing
that smokes--what you call it?"

"Tubuko--no, I have no more of that than you saw in the fire-bag.  The
white men sometimes call it bukey, and I have no fire-water or tee.
Sometimes we put a nice sweet stuff into the tee which the white men
call shoogir.  The Indian girls are very fond of shoogir.  They like it
best without being mixed with water and tee.  But we have that in our
own land.  We make it from the juice of a tree."

The interest with which Cheenbuk gazed into the girl's face while she
spoke, was doubtless due very much to the prettiness thereof, but it is
only just to add that the number and nature of the absolutely new
subjects which were thus opened up to him had something to do with it.
His imperfect knowledge of her language, however, had a bamboozling
effect.

"Here is a thing which I think you will be glad to see," continued the
girl, as she extracted a small hatchet from the bundle.

"Yes indeed; that is a _very_ good thing," said the youth, handling the
implement with almost affectionate tenderness.  "I had one once--and
that, too, is a fine thing," he added, as she drew a scalping-knife from
her bundle.

"You may have them both," she said; "I knew you would need them on the
journey."

Cheenbuk was too much lost in admiration of the gifts--which to him were
so splendid--that he failed to find words to express his gratitude, but,
seizing a piece of firewood and resting it on another piece, he set to
work with the hatchet, and sent the chips flying in all directions for
some time, to the amusement, and no small surprise, of his companion.
Then he laid down the axe, and, taking up the scalping-knife, began to
whittle sticks with renewed energy.  Suddenly he paused and looked at
Adolay with ineffable delight.

"They are good?" she remarked with a cheerful nod.

"Good, good, very good!  We have nothing nearly so good.  All our things
are made of bone or stone."

"Now," returned the girl, with a blink of her lustrous eyes, and a yawn
of her pretty mouth, which Nature had not yet taught her to conceal with
her little hand, "now, I am sleepy.  I will lie down."

Cheenbuk replied with a smile, and pointed to the canoe with his nose.

Adolay took the hint, crept into the nest which the gallant youth had
prepared for her, curled herself up like a hedgehog, and was sound
asleep in five minutes.

The Eskimo, meanwhile, resumed his labours with the scalping-knife, and
whittled on far into the night--whittled until he had reduced every
stick within reach of his hand to a mass of shavings--a beaming
childlike glow of satisfaction resting on his handsome face all the
while, until the embers of the fire began to sink low, and only an
occasional flicker of flame shot up to enlighten the increasing
darkness.  Then he laid the two implements down and covered them
carefully with a piece of deerskin, while his countenance resumed its
wonted gravity of expression.

Drawing up his knees until his chin rested on them, and clasping his
hands round them, he sat for a long time brooding there and gazing into
the dying embers of the fire; then he rose, stretched himself, and
sauntered down to the shore.

The night, although dark for the Arctic regions at that time of the
year, was not by any means obscure.  On the contrary, it might have
passed for a very fair moonlight night in more southern climes, and the
flush of the coming day in the eastern sky was beginning to warm the
tops of the higher among the ice-masses, thereby rendering the rest of
the scene more coldly grey.  The calm which had favoured the escape of
our fugitives still prevailed, and the open spaces had gradually widened
until the floes had assumed the form of ghostly white islets floating in
a blue-black sea, in which the fantastic cliffs, lumps, and pinnacles
were sharply reflected as in a mirror.

There was a solemnity and profound quietude about the scene and the hour
which harmonised well with the sedate spirit of the young Eskimo, as he
stood there for a long time contemplating the wonders and the beauties
of the world around and about him.

We know not what passes through the minds of untutored men in such
circumstances, but who shall dare to say that the Spirit of their
Creator may not be holding intercourse with them at such times?

Turning his back at length upon the sea, Cheenbuk returned to the camp,
lay down on the couch which he had made for himself on the opposite side
of the fire from the canoe, and, in a few moments more, was in the
health- and strength-restoring regions of Oblivion.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOME--SWEET HOME--AND SMOKE, ETCETERA.

The favouring calm continued until Cheenbuk with his companion arrived
at Waruskeek.

It was about mid-day when their canoe turned round the headland and
entered the inlet near the head of which lay the Eskimo village.

The boy Anteek happened to be standing on the shore at the time, beside
the young girl Nootka.  They were looking out to sea, and observed the
canoe the moment it turned the point of rocks.

"Hoi-oi!" yelled Anteek with an emphasis that caused the inhabitants of
the whole village to leap out of every hut with the celerity of
squirrels, and rush to the shore.  Here those who had first arrived were
eagerly commenting on the approaching visitors.

"A kayak of the Fire-spouters!" cried Anteek, with a look of intense
glee, for nothing was so dear to the soul of that volatile youth, as
that which suggested danger, except, perhaps, that which involved fun.

"The kayak is indeed that of a Fire-spouter," said old Mangivik, shaking
his grey head, "but I don't think any Fire-spouter among them would be
such a fool as to run his head into our very jaws."

"I'm not ready to agree with you, old man," began Gartok.

"No; you're never ready to agree with any one!" growled Mangivik
parenthetically.

"For the Fire-spouters," continued Gartok, disregarding the growl, "are
afraid of nothing.  Why should they be when they can spout wounds and
death so easily?"

Poor Gartok spoke feelingly, for his wounded leg had reduced his vigour
considerably, and he was yet only able to limp about with the aid of a
stick, while his lieutenant Ondikik was reduced to skin and bone by the
injury to his back.

Suddenly Mangivik became rather excited.

"Woman," he said earnestly to his wife, who stood beside him, "do you
see who steers the kayak?  Look, your eyes are better than mine."

"No.  I do not."

"Look again!" cried Anteek, pushing forward at that moment.  "He is not
a Fire-spouter.  He is _one of us_!  But the one in front is a
Fire-spouter woman.  Look at the man!  Don't you know him?"

There was an intensity of suppressed fervour in the manner of the boy,
and an unwonted glitter in his eyes, which impressed every one who
noticed him.

"Yes, he is one of us," said Mangivik, shading his eyes with one hand,
"and he has stolen a Fire-spouting girl with her kayak!"

There was a look of pride in the face of the old man as he spoke, but it
was as nothing to the shout of triumph--the shriek of ecstasy--that
burst from Anteek as he uttered the word--"Cheenbuk!"

Just then a strong clear voice came rolling over the water to the shore,
and a roar of joy burst from the whole assemblage, for there was no
mistaking the voice of their comrade and best hunter.  The hearts of
Nootka and her mother beat with no ordinary flutter as they heard the
familiar shout, and as for Anteek, he went into a paroxysm of delight,
which he sought to relieve by bounding and yelling till the canoe
touched the shore.  Then, by a powerful effort, he subdued himself, and
turned his energies into a prolonged look of unutterable amazement at
Adolay.

Of course the eyes of the entire population were turned in the same
direction--for Eskimos do not count it rude to stare--so that the poor
girl felt somewhat abashed, and shrank a little behind her stout
protector.

Observing the action, Cheenbuk took hold of her arm gently and led her
towards his mother.

"This is my mother, Adolay," he said; "she will take care of you."

"Your _wife_?" asked Mrs Mangivik, with an anxious look.

"No, not my wife," replied the youth, with a laugh.  "Take her to our
hut, you and Nootka, while I go and speak with the men.--She saved my
life, father," he added, turning to Mangivik, "be good to her."

On hearing this, Nootka and her mother took the girl affectionately by
both hands and led her away.

Cheenbuk meanwhile went up to the big hut, just outside of which was
held a meeting of nearly the whole population, to receive an account of
his adventures from the man whom they had long ago given up as lost.

"My friends," he began, surveying the expectant assembly with a grave
straightforward look, "when I went by myself to the Whale River, my
intention was to hunt around and find out if there were many birds and
beasts on lands near to it, and if many men lived or hunted there, for
it came into my mind that this little island of Waruskeek is not the
best place in the world to live in, for our tribe is continually
increasing.  I thought that if there were Fire-spouters there already,
we must be content with the lands we have got, for it is not right to
take what belongs to other men."

Cheenbuk paused here and looked round, because he knew that he was
treading on somewhat new and delicate ground in thus asserting a
principle of _right_; and he was not mistaken, for, while the most of
his audience remained silent, several of them expressed dissent.

"Besides," he continued, "it is not wise to attack men with
fire-spouters, which send into their enemies heavy little things like
that which was lately picked out of Gartok's leg; the same as still
seems to be sticking in Ondikik's back."

"Ho! ho!" exclaimed a number of the men, as if that truth commended
itself to their understandings.

"Well, when I got to the river, I found plenty of white-whales at the
mouth of it, and great plenty of birds of all kinds, and of deer--a land
good for man to dwell in, with many trees that would make
sledge-runners, and much dead wood for our fires, and no one living
there, nor signs of anybody.  Then I thought to myself, Why should we
live always among the floes and bergs?  The few Fire-spouters whom we
have seen and heard of have better food, better homes, better tools of
every kind.  Why should not we have the same?"

Here the wise Cheenbuk drew from the breast of his seal-skin coat the
axe and scalping-knife which Adolay had given him, and held them up.

This was a politic move, for it won over almost the entire audience to
the young hunter's views, while looks of ardent admiration were bestowed
on the coveted implements.

"When men find it not easy to get food," resumed Cheenbuk, in the tone
and with the air of a man who has much to say and means to say it, "they
change to some place where hunting is better.  When fish become scarce,
they do not remain still, but go to places where the fishing is better.
They always seek for something that is better and better.  Is this not
true?  Is this not wise?"

"Ho! ho!" exclaimed the assembly, assenting.

"Why, then, should not we go to a land where there is much that is far
better than we find here, and live as the Fire-spouters live?  Did the
Great Maker of all things intend that we should remain content with
these treeless islands among the ice, when there are lands not very far
away where we may find much of all kinds of things that are far better?
If it is wise to change our hunting and fishing grounds close at hand,
surely it may be wise to change to those that are far away--especially
when we know that they are better, and likely to make us more
comfortable and happy."

This suggestion was such a tremendous innovation on ordinary Eskimo
ideas, such a radical conception of change and upheaval of age-long
habits, that the assembly gazed in awe-struck and silent wonder at the
bold young man, much as the members of Parliament of the last century
might have gazed if any reckless M.P. had dared to propose universal
suffrage or vote by ballot, or to suggest that measures should
henceforth be framed in accordance with the Golden Rule.

"After I had travelled a short way inland," continued Cheenbuk, "I met a
Fire-spouter.  He was all alone.  No one was with him.  He pointed his
spouter at me, and it clicked but would not spout--I don't know why.  I
threw my spear.  It went straight--as you know it always does--but the
man was quick; he put his head to one side and escaped.  Again he
pointed his spouter at me, but again it only clicked.  Then I rushed
upon him and caught hold of it before it could spout.  We wrestled--but
he was a very strong man, and I could not overcome him--and he could not
overcome me.  Our breath came short.  The sweat poured down our faces
and our eyes glared; but when we looked steadily into each other's eyes
we saw that we were both men of peace.  We let our bodies go soft, and
dropped the spouter on the ground.

"`Why should we fight?' said he.

"`That was just in my thought,' said I.

"So we stood up, and he took hold of my hand in the way that the white
traders do, and squeezed it.  I will show you how.--Give me your hand,
Anteek--no, the other one."

The boy extended his hand, and Cheenbuk, grasping it, gave it a squeeze
that caused the little fellow to yell and throw the assembly into
convulsions of laughter, for Eskimos, unlike the sedate Indians, dearly
love a practical joke.

From this point Cheenbuk related the rest of his interview with the
Indian, and was particularly graphic in his description of the pipe,
which he exhibited to them, though he refrained from any reference to
its effect upon himself.  Then he discoursed of his subsequent
exploration of the mainland, and finally came to the point where he met
and rescued Rinka.--"But tell me, before I speak more, is Rinka dead?"

"No, she is getting well."

"That is good," he continued, in a tone of satisfaction.  "Old Uleeta, I
doubt not, told you of the fight I had with the Fire-spouters?"

"She did," cried Anteek, with delight, "and how you gave them sore
hearts!"

"H'm! they gave me a sore heart too; but I don't care now!  And they
would have roasted me alive, but one of their girls had pity on me,
helped me to escape, and came away with me.  Adolay is her name--the
girl you saw to-day."

"Ho! ho! hoi-oi?" broke forth the chorus of satisfaction.

"Yes, but for her," continued Cheenbuk, "I should have been under the
ground and my hair would have been fluttering on the dress of a
Fire-spouter chief by this time.  Now, I have promised this girl that I
will get a large party of our young men to go back with her to Whale
River and give her back to her father and mother."

At this there were strong murmurs of dissent, and a man whom we have not
yet introduced to the reader lifted up his voice.

This man's name was Aglootook.  He was the medicine-man of the tribe--a
sort of magician; a sharp, clever, unscrupulous, presumptuous, and
rather fine looking-fellow, who held the people in some degree of
subjection through their superstitious fears, though there were some of
the men among them who would not give in to his authority.  As Eskimos
have no regular chiefs, this man tried to occupy the position of one.
He had just returned from a hunting expedition the day before, and was
jealous of the interest aroused by Cheenbuk's arrival.  Moreover,
Cheenbuk was one of the few men of the tribe whom he disliked, and
rather feared.

"What folly is this that I hear?" said Aglootook, as he frowned on the
assembly.  "Are we to get up a war-party and put ourselves to all this
trouble for a woman--and a Fire-spouter woman!"

"It is not a war-party that I want," said Cheenbuk quietly.  "It is a
peace-party, and such a strong one that there will be no fear of war.  I
will conduct it, and, as I know the way, will go by myself unarmed to
the village of the men of the woods, tell them that I have brought back
their girl, and that a large party of my people are waiting at the mouth
of the river with plenty of skins and walrus teeth and other things to
trade with them."

"But does any one think they will believe that?" said Aglootook with
something of scorn in his looks and tone.  "Will the Fire-spouters not
accept the girl and roast Cheenbuk, and then meet us with their spouters
and kill many of us, even though we should beat them at last?"

"It is my opinion there is something in that," remarked Mangivik.

"Besides," continued the magician, "what folly is it to talk of changing
our customs, which have never been changed since the First Man created
fish and animals!  Are we not satisfied with whales and walruses, bears
and seals, deer and birds?  Is not our snow igloe as comfortable as the
Fire-spouters' skin tent?  What do we care for their ornaments or other
things?  What does Cheenbuk know about the Great Maker of all things?
Has he seen him?  Has he talked with him?  If there is such a Maker, did
he not place us here, and surround us with all the things that we need,
and intend us to remain here?  Why should we go and look for better
things?  If he had thought that woods and lakes and rivers had been good
for us, would he not have made these things here for us, so that we
should have no need to go far away to seek for them--"

"Ay, and if Aglootook is right," interrupted Cheenbuk in a calm but firm
voice, "why should we go far away to seek the bear, the walrus, and the
seal?  Why does Aglootook go hunting at all?  If the Great Maker thought
these things good for us, would he not have made them to walk up to our
igloes and ask to be killed and eaten?  Why should they even do that?
why not walk straight down our throats and save all trouble?  Is it not
rather quite plain that man was made with wants and wishes and the power
to satisfy them, and so advance from good to better?  Does not Aglootook
prove by his own conduct that he thinks so?  He might make life easy by
sitting near his hut and killing for food the little birds that come
about our dwellings, but he goes on long hard journeys, and takes much
trouble, for he knows that slices of fat seal and walrus-ribs are better
than little birds!"

There was a general laugh at the expense of the magician, for his mental
powers were inferior to those of Cheenbuk, and he felt himself unable to
see through the entanglement of his logic.

"Boh!" he ejaculated, with a sweep of his long arm, as if to clear away
such ridiculous arguments.  "What stuff is this that I hear?  Surely
Cheenbuk has been smitten with the folly of the Fire-spouters.  His
words are like a lamp with a very bad wick: it makes too much smoke, and
confuses everything near it."

"Aglootook is right," said Cheenbuk, who resolved to end the dispute at
this point, "many words are like the smoke of a bad lamp: they confuse,
especially when they are not well-understood, but the Fire-spouters
confuse themselves with real smoke as well as with words.  See, here is
one of their things; the white traders call it a paip, or piep."

As he spoke he opened the fire-bag which Adolay had given him and took
out of it the clay pipe, tobacco, and materials for producing fire.  The
medicine-man was instantly forgotten, and the mouths as well as the eyes
of the whole assembly opened in unspeakable wonder as Cheenbuk went
through the complex processes of filling and lighting the pipe.  First
he cut up some of the Canada twist, which, he explained, was the tubuk
of the white men.  Then having filled the pipe, he proceeded to strike a
light with flint and steel.  In this he was not very successful at
first, not yet having had much practice.  He chipped his knuckles a good
deal, and more than once knocked the flint and tinder out of his
fingers.  But his audience was not critical.  They regarded this as part
of the performance.  When, however, he at last struck a succession of
sparks, he also struck an equal number of short, sharp expressions of
astonishment out of his friends, and when the tinder caught there was a
suppressed grunt of surprise and pleasure; but when he put the fire into
the pipe and began to smoke, there burst forth a prolonged shout of
laughter.  To see a man smoking like a bad lamp was a joke that seemed
to tickle those unsophisticated children of the ice immensely.

"Is it good?" asked one.  "Do you like it?" cried another.  "Let me try
it!" begged a third.

Mindful of past experiences, Cheenbuk did not indulge in many whiffs.

"No, no," he said, taking the pipe from his lips with solemn gravity.
"Not every one who wishes it shall have a taste of this to-day.  Only a
great man of our tribe shall try it.  Some one who has done great things
above his fellows."

He looked pointedly at Aglootook as he spoke, with solemnity on his face
but mischief in his heart.

Oolalik, however, with the reverse of mischief in his heart, interfered
unwittingly with his designs.  He seized hold of Anteek, who chanced to
be near him, and thrust him forward.

"Here," said he, "is one of the great ones of our tribe, at least he
will be one if he lives long, for he has killed a walrus all by
himself--on land too!"

The boy, although pretty full of what is known among the civilised as
"cheek," was almost overwhelmed by this public recognition of his
prowess, and was about to retire with a half-shy expression, when the
audience received the proposal with a burst of applause.

"Yes, yes," they cried; "he is a brave boy: let him try it."

Seeing that they were set upon it, Cheenbuk handed the pipe to the boy,
and bade him draw the smoke in and puff it out, taking care not to
swallow it.

But Anteek did swallow some at first and choked a little, to the great
amusement of the assembly.  His pride carried him through, however; he
tried again, and was successful.  Then his "cheek" came back and he went
on, puffing out far larger volumes than his instructor had done.

"You had better stop," said Cheenbuk, reaching out his hand to take the
pipe; but the boy dodged him with a laugh and went on worse than ever.
Seeing this, Cheenbuk smiled significantly and waited.  He had not to
wait long.  Suddenly the face of Anteek became unusually pale.  Placing
the pipe hurriedly in the bands of a man near him, he bolted out of the
hut and disappeared.

He was not seen again during the remainder of that conference!



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

DOINGS IN WARUSKEEK.

While Cheenbuk was thus entrancing the souls of his friends near the big
hut, his mother and sister were exercising hospitality to the Indian
girl in their private residence.  It was rather a dark and smoky
residence, with only one hole in the roof, about eight inches square, to
let in light.  If truth must be told, it was also somewhat dirty, for,
besides having only one large room in which living, cooking, receiving
company, and sleeping were carried on, the dogs of the family were
permitted to repose there--when they were good!  Anything approaching to
badness ensured their summary and violent ejection.

Branching from this family room was a little recess, screened off by
skin curtains, which formed Nootka's private apartment or boudoir.  It
was singularly unlike the boudoirs of other lands!  Black smoke, instead
of whitewash,  the walls and ceiling.  No glass hung on the wall
to reflect the visage of the Arctic beauty, but there were several pegs,
from one of which hung Nootka's seal-skin bad-weather jacket, the
tadpole-tail of which reached to the ground, while from another depended
a pair of her long waterproof boots.  One half of the floor being raised
about eight inches, constituted the Eskimo maiden's couch--also her
chair and sofa.  There was no table, but the skull of a walrus did
service as a stool.

To this apartment Nootka introduced her young Indian friend, leaving her
mother in the outer hall, and the two maidens at once began, as might
have been expected, an earnest and confidential conversation.  In their
eagerness they had not reflected that each knew not one word of the
other's language, but of course the first sentences opened their eyes to
the melancholy fact.

They had, indeed, been opened already to some extent, but not so
impressively as now when they longed for a good talk.

"Come here," said Nootka--of course in Eskimo--as she dragged rather
than led her new friend into the boudoir; "I want you to tell me all
about your saving my brother's life."

"I don't understand a word you say," replied Adolay--of course in Dogrib
Indian--with a look of great perplexity in her wide-open eyes.

"Oh!  I'm stupid and sorry.  I forgot.  You don't speak our language."

"What funny sounds!  It seems like nonsense," remarked Adolay--more to
herself than to her friend.

"So curious!" soliloquised Nootka; "what one might expect from a seal if
it tried to speak.  Say that over again.  I like to hear it."

The perplexity on the face of the Indian maid deepened, and she shook
her head, while the look of fun in that of the Eskimo maiden increased,
and she smiled knowingly.

Here at last they had hit on common ground--tapped a universal spring of
human communication.  Adolay at once beamed an answering smile, and
displayed all her brilliant teeth in doing so.  This drew a soft laugh
of pleasure from Nootka and an intelligent nod.

Nods and smiles, however, pleasant in their way though they be, form a
very imperfect means of intercourse between souls which wish to unite,
and the perplexed expression was beginning again to steal over both
their youthful countenances, when something in the nature of a happy
thought seemed to strike the Indian girl, for a gleam as of sunlight
flashed from her eyes and teeth, as she suddenly beat with her little
fist three times on her own bosom, exclaiming, "Adolay!  Adolay!
Adolay!" with much emphasis.  Then, poking her finger against her
friend's breast, she added--"You? you?"

Here again was "a touch of nature" which made these two damsels "kin."
Although the "You? you?" was not intelligible to the Eskimo, the gaze of
inquiry was a familiar tongue.  With a smile of delight she nodded,
struck her own bosom with her fist, and said, "Nootka!  Nootka!"  Then,
tapping her friend, she said--"Addi-lay?"  The Indian, nodding assent,
tapped her in return and exclaimed, "No-oot-ko?"

After this little sparring match they both burst into a fit of hearty
laughter, which roused the curiosity of Mrs Mangivik in the outer hall.

"What is the joke?" shouted the old lady, who was hospitably preparing a
feast of steaks and ribs for her guest.

"Oh, mother, she _is_ so funny!--Come, Addi-lay, let her hear your fun,"
said the girl, taking her guest's hand and leading her back to the hall.
"Her name is Addi-lay.  I know, for she told me herself.  We quite
understand each other already.

"Speak to mother, Addi-lay.  Tell her something."

"I don't know what you want me to do, No-oot-ko," returned the Indian
girl, with a bright look, "but I know that whatever you are saying must
be kind, for you've got such a nice face."

By way of emphasising her opinion she took the face between her hands
and laid her own against it.

We have never been quite sure as to what Adolay did on this occasion--
whether she rubbed noses or chins or touched lips.  All that we are sure
of is that the operation was equivalent to a kiss, and that it was
reciprocated heartily.

"Didn't I tell you, mother, that she was funny?  I'll explain to you
what she said when we are alone; but Addi-lay is hungry now, and so am
I.  Let us feed, mother."

Without more ado the trio sat down beside the cooking-lamp and began to
do justice to the savoury viands, the odour of which was so enticing
that it was too much for the dogs of the family.  These had to be
expelled by means of old bones.  Mrs Mangivik being an expert shot with
such artillery, the hall was soon cleared.

After the meal, conversation was resumed, and conducted with
considerably greater ease, owing to the chief subject of it being the
Indian girl's costume, which was somewhat elaborate, for, being a
chief's daughter, her dress was in many respects beautiful--especially
those portions of it, such as the leggings and the head-dress, which
were profusely ornamented with  beads and porcupine-quill work.
The examination of the various parts occupied a considerable time.  The
mode of ascertaining names had been already discovered, and looks of
admiration require no translation, so that the three women were deeply
engaged in a most interesting talk when Cheenbuk and his father entered
the hut after the conference.

"Ribs, ribs and slices!  Quick, woman," cried Mangivik cheerily as he
sat down.  "Cheenbuk has been talking and I have been listening till we
are both quite hungry.--That is a pretty girl you have brought home with
you, my son," said the old man, with a stare of approval.  "Almost as
pretty as some of our own girls."

"Much prettier, I think," returned the youth, as he quietly selected a
rib of walrus that seemed suitable to his capacity.

"Tell your mother how you got hold of her," said Mangivik, whose teeth
were next moment fastened in a steak.

Cheenbuk made no reply.  Eskimo manners did not require an answer in the
circumstances.  But when he had taken the edge off his appetite--and it
took a good deal of dental grinding to do that--he looked across at
Adolay with a genial expression and began to give his mother and sister
a second, and much more graphic, edition of the speech which he had just
delivered to the men.

Of course the narration served to strengthen the bonds of friendship
which had already been formed between the Mangivik family and the Indian
girl, who had been thus unexpectedly added to their circle.

That evening Nootka begged her brother to give her a lesson in the
Dogrib language.  On the same evening, during a moonlight ramble, Adolay
asked him to give her a little instruction in the Eskimo tongue, and,
just before he retired for the night, his mother asked him if he
intended to take the Indian girl as one of his wives.

"You know, mother," was Cheenbuk's reply, "I have always differed from
my friends about wives.  I think that one wife is enough for one man;
sometimes too much for him!  I also think that if it is fair for a man
to choose a woman, it is also fair for the woman to choose the man.  I
would gladly take Adolay for a wife, for she is good as well as pretty,
but I do not know that she would take me for a husband."

"Have you not asked her, then?" persisted Mrs Mangivik.

"No.  I have been till now her protector.  I can wait.  If she wants to
return to her people I have promised to take her to them."

"But surely my son is not bound to keep a promise given to one of our
fire-spouting enemies?"

"That may seem right to you, mother, but it seems wrong to me.  I do not
understand why I disagree with you, and with most of my people, but
there is something inside of me which, I think, is _not_ me.  It tells
me not to do many things that I want to do, and sometimes bids me go
forward when I wish to draw back.  What it is I cannot tell, but I must
not disobey it, I _will not_ disobey it."

With this answer the old lady had to be content, for she could extract
nothing more from her son after that but a smile.

As for old Mangivik, he asked and said nothing, but he thought much.

A few days after Cheenbuk's arrival, it was arranged by the heads of the
village that there should be a general scattering of the tribe for a
great hunt after seals and wild-fowl, as provisions were not so
plentiful as might have been desired.  An expedition of this kind was
always hailed with great glee by Anteek, whose youth and very excitable
disposition were not easily satisfied with the prosaic details of
village life.

Previous to setting out, however, an event occurred which was well-nigh
attended with disastrous consequences.

It had been arranged that Cheenbuk and his friends Oolalik and Anteek
should keep together in their kayaks, accompanied by an oomiak to carry
the game.  This woman's boat was to be manned, so to speak, by young
Uleeta, Cowlik, and two other girls.  Adolay had been offered a place in
it, but she preferred going in her own bark canoe, with the management
of which she was familiar.  Perhaps a touch of national pride had
something to do with this preference of the Indian craft.  Nootka, who
had made several trials of the canoe, was judged sufficiently expert to
wield the bow paddle.

While preparations were being made, Adolay and Nootka went to the bay
where the canoe was lying--a short distance from the village, on the
other side of a high cliff that sheltered the bay from any breeze that
might blow in from the sea.  The light craft was turned bottom up on the
beach, and the two girls carried it down to the water's edge.  Launching
it, Nootka got in first, and Adolay was preparing to follow when a
boyish shout arrested her, and she saw Anteek come skimming round the
point in his kayak, wielding his double-bladed paddle with great
dexterity and power.  In a few seconds the kayak was alongside the canoe
and the boy stepped out upon the shore.

"Let me try to steer your canoe," he said, pointing eagerly to the place
where the Indian girl was about to seat herself.

Although Adolay did not understand the words, she had no difficulty with
the boy's expressive pantomime.  She nodded assent cheerfully.  Anteek
took the paddle, stepped into her place, and the girl pushed them off
into deep water.

Delighted with the novelty of their position the two paddled away with
great vigour, and were soon a considerable distance from the shore.
Then it occurred to Adolay that she would have some fun on her own
account, and perhaps give her new friends a surprise.  With this intent
she floated the kayak and pushed it alongside of a flat stone in the
water from which she could step into it.  But she found that stepping
into a small round hole in the centre of a covered craft was not the
same as stepping into her own canoe, and even when, with great care, she
succeeded, she found that her garments rendered the process of sitting
down rather difficult--not a matter of wonder when we consider that the
kayak is meant only for men.

However, she succeeded at last, and grasping the paddle pushed off to
sea.  But the long paddle with its blade at each end perplexed her
greatly, and she had not quite overcome the awkwardness and begun to
feel somewhat at ease when she chanced to touch on a ledge of rock that
cropped up at that place near to the surface.  Fortunately the rock was
quite smooth, else it would have ripped up the skin with which the
vessel was covered, but the shock and the paddle together were too much
for the inexperienced girl.  She lost her balance, and next moment was
in the water with the kayak bottom up, and she incapable of extricating
herself from the hole into which she had squeezed.

It happened that Anteek and Nootka had observed what Adolay was about,
and were watching her with interest, so that before the kayak had turned
fairly over their paddles dipped with a flash in the water and they
rushed to the rescue.  And not a moment too soon, for the poor girl's
power of endurance was almost exhausted when her friends turned the
kayak violently up.  This was well, and Adolay drew a long gasping
breath; but now the inexperience of the rescuers came into play, for,
being ignorant of the cranky nature of a birch-bark canoe, they acted
without the necessary caution, the canoe overturned and they all found
themselves in the water.  This time Adolay managed to wriggle out of her
position, but being unable to swim she could only cling helplessly to
the kayak.  Nootka, equally helpless, clung to the canoe.  Fortunately
Anteek could swim like a fish, and bravely set to work to push both
crafts towards the shore.  But they were a long way out; the weight of
the two girls made them difficult to push, and, being separate, they had
a tendency to diverge in different directions.

After a few vigorous efforts, the boy, perceiving the difficulty and the
extreme danger of their position, at once set up a series of yells that
awoke sympathetic echoes in the neighbourhood; but he did not for a
moment relax his efforts to push his charge towards the shore.

Startled by the sudden outburst of alarming cries, several men ran along
shore in the direction whence they came.  Foremost among these was the
powerful and active Oolalik.  On turning the point and seeing what had
occurred he plunged into the sea and swam like a dolphin to the rescue.
Great was the size of his eyes, and intense the swelling of his heart,
when he saw that Nootka was one of the swimmers.

"Take care of Addi-lay and the kayak," he remarked to Anteek as he drew
near, "I will look after Nootka and the canoe."

What Nootka felt on hearing these words we cannot tell, but any one
might have seen that, despite her unpleasant position, there was a
pleased expression on her wet face.

A very few minutes more sufficed to bring them all safe to land, and no
one was a whit the worse, but as the girls required a complete change of
garments, it was finally decided that the hunting expedition should be
postponed until the following day.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

IN THE WILD-WOODS AGAIN.

While these events were taking place among the islands of the Arctic
sea, the Indian chief Nazinred was slowly pushing his canoe southward in
the direction of Great Bear Lake.  He was accompanied, as we have said,
by three like-minded comrades, one of whom was named Mozwa--or
Moose-deer--from some fancied resemblance in him to that uncouth animal.

But Mozwa, although uncouth, was by no means ungenial.  On the contrary,
he was a hearty good-natured fellow, who always tried to make the best
of things, and never gave way to despondency, however gloomy or
desperate might be the nature of his circumstances.  Moreover, he was a
big strong man, full of courage, in the prime of life, and modest
withal, so that he was usually rather inclined to take than to give
advice--to be led, rather than to lead.

For hours together these men dipped their paddles over the side in
concert, without uttering a single word, or giving more than a slight
exclamation when anything worthy of notice attracted their attention.
The interchange of thought during the labours of the day did not seem to
strike them as necessary.  The mere being in company of each other was a
sufficient bond of sympathy, until an encampment was reached each
evening, supper disposed of, and the tobacco-pipes in full blast.  Then,
at last, their native reserve gave way, and they ventured to indulge a
little--sometimes a good deal--in the feast of reason and the flow of
soul.

Yet the nature of their voyage was such that white men might have deemed
verbal intercourse an occasional necessity, as their route lay through
much rugged and wild scenery, where the streams up which they had to
force their way were in some places obstructed by rapids and shallows,
and a mistake on their part might have brought sudden disaster and ruin.
For their canoe was deeply laden with the furs which they had secured
during the labours of the past winter, and on the sale of which to the
fur-traders depended much of their and their families' felicity or
misery during the winter which was to come.  But the steersman and
bowman understood their work so well, and were so absolutely in accord,
that the slightest action with the paddle on the part of either was
understood and sympathetically met by the other.

This unity of action is much more important than the navigators of lakes
and oceans may suppose.  In those almost currentless waters a steersman
in any craft is usually self-sufficient, but among turbulent rapids,
where rocks and shoals lie in all directions, and the deep-water track
is tortuous, with, it may be, abrupt turnings here and there, a bowman
is absolutely essential, and sometimes, indeed, may become the more
important steersman of the two.

One evening, long after the period when they left their native
encampment, the friends paddled their little vessel into the backwater
at the foot of a long rapid which roared in foaming white billows right
ahead of them, offering what seemed an effectual barrier to their
further progress--at least by water--and as the sides of the gorge
through which the river rushed were almost perpendicular, without margin
and with impenetrable bush everywhere, advance by land seemed equally
blocked.

Looking backward, Mozwa gave his friend an interrogative glance.
Nazinred replied with an affirmative nod, and, all four dipping their
paddles vigorously at the same moment, they shot out into the stream.
Almost before the canoe was caught by the current it swung quickly into
another eddy, which carried it up a few yards close under the frowning
cliffs.  Here again the Indians paused, and gazed earnestly at the
foaming torrent ahead, which, to an unpractised eye, might have seemed a
raging flood, to enter which would ensure destruction.

And indeed the two guides seemed to entertain some such thoughts, for
they continued to gaze for a considerable time in silent inaction.  Then
the bowman threw back another glance; the steersman replied with another
nod, and again the canoe shot out into the stream.

This time the struggle was more severe.  A short distance above the
point where they entered it, a large rock reared its black head in
mid-stream.  Below it there was the usual long stretch of backwater.  To
reach the tail of this stretch was the object of the men, but the
intervening rush was so powerful that it swept them down like a cork, so
that they almost missed it despite their utmost efforts.

"Almost," however, is a hopeful phrase.  They were not quite beyond the
influence of the eddy when they reached the end of the tail.  A
superhuman effort might yet save them from being swept back to the point
far below that from which they had started.  Mozwa was just the man to
make such an effort.  Nazinred and the others were pre-eminently the men
to back him up.

"Ho!" cried Mozwa.

"Hoi!" shouted Nazinred, as they bent their backs and cracked their
sinews, and made the big veins stand up on their necks and foreheads.

A few seconds more and the canoe was floating under the shelter of the
black-headed rock, and the Indians rested while they surveyed the
battleground yet before them.

The next reach carried them right across the river to a place where a
long bend produced a considerable sweep of eddying water, up which they
paddled easily.  Above this, one or two short bursts into the tails
caused by nearly sunken rocks brought them to a point full half-way up
the rapid.  But now greater caution was needed, because anything like a
miss would send them downward, and might hurl them with destructive
force against the rocks and ledges which they had already passed.  A
birch-bark canoe is an exceedingly tender craft, which is not only
certain of destruction if it strikes a rock, but is pretty sure of being
swamped if it even grazes one.

With the utmost care, therefore, and consummate skill, they succeeded in
pushing up the rapid, inch by inch, without mishap, until they reached
the last shoot, when their skill or good fortune, or whatever it was,
failed them, for they missed the last eddy, were swept downwards a few
yards, and just touched a rock.  It was a very slight touch.  A boatman
would have smiled at it; nevertheless it drew from the Indians "ho's!"
and "hoi's!" such as they had not given vent to since the voyage began.
At the same time they rushed the canoe, with all their strength, for the
nearest point of land.

They were scarcely a minute in reaching it, yet in that brief space of
time their craft had almost sunk, a large piece of the bark having been
torn from its side.

The instant they touched land the two leaders stepped quickly out, and,
while they held the craft close to the bank, their comrades threw out
the bundles of fur as fast as possible.  Then the canoe was turned over
to empty it, and carried up the bank.

"That is good luck," said Mozwa quietly, as they stood looking at the
large hole in the canoe.

"I have seen better luck," remarked Nazinred, with something that might
almost have been mistaken for a smile on his grave countenance.

Mozwa did not explain.  Nazinred knew that the luck referred to was the
fact that before the accident occurred they had surmounted all the
difficulties of the rapid, and that the place on which they stood was
convenient for camping on, as well as for opening out and drying the
furs on the following day.  And Mozwa knew that Nazinred knew all that.

While the latter kindled a fire, arranged the camp, and prepared supper
under a spreading tree, the former mended the canoe.  The process was
simple, and soon completed.  From a roll of birch-bark, always carried
in canoes for such emergencies, Mozwa cut off a piece a little larger
than the hole it was designed to patch.  With this he covered the
injured place, and sewed it to the canoe, using an awl as a needle and
the split roots of a tree as thread.  Thereafter he plastered the seams
over with gum to make them water-tight, and the whole job was finished
by the time the other men had got supper ready.

Indians are in the habit of eating supper in what may be styled a
business-like manner--they "mean business," to use a familiar phrase,
when they sit down to that meal.  Indeed, most savages do; it is only
civilised dyspeptics who don't.  When the seriousness of the business
began to wear off, the idea of mental effort and lingual communication
occurred to the friends.  Hitherto their eyes alone had spoken, and
these expressive orbs had testified, as plainly as could the tongue, to
the intense gratification they derived from the possession of good
appetites and plenty of food.

"I think," said Mozwa, wiping his mouth with that familiar
handkerchief--the back of his hand--"that there will be trouble in the
camp before long, for when you are away that beast Magadar has too much
power.  He will try to make our young men go with him to fight the
Eskimos!"

It must not be supposed that the Indian applied the word "beast" to
Magadar in that objectionable and slangy way in which it is used among
ourselves.  Indians happily have no slang.  They are not civilised
enough for that.  Mozwa merely meant to express his opinion that
Magadar's nature was more allied to that of the lower than of the higher
animals.

"Yes, and Alizay will encourage him," returned Nazinred, with a frown.
"The man is well-named."

This remark about the name had reference to the word Alizay, which means
gunpowder, and which had been given to the Indian in his boyhood because
of his fiery and quarrelsome disposition.

"The geese and the ducks are in plenty just now," continued Nazinred; "I
hope that he and Magadar will be more taken up with filling their mouths
than fighting till I return--and then I can hinder them."

"H'm!" responded Mozwa.  He might have said more, but was busy lighting
his pipe at the moment.  Nazinred made no further remark at the time,
for he was in the full enjoyment of the first voluminous exhalation of
the weed.

After a few minutes the chief resumed--

"Our old chief is full of the right spirit.  He is losing power with the
young men, but I think he can still guide them.  I will hope so, and we
will return as soon as we can."

Poor Nazinred!  If he had known that his only and beloved daughter, even
while he spoke, was on her way to the mysterious icy sea in company with
one of the despised Eskimos--driven away by the violence of the
fire-eaters of the camp--he would not have smoked or spoken so calmly.
But, fortunately for his own peace of mind, he did not know--he did not
dream of the possibility of such a catastrophe; and even if he had known
and returned home at full speed, he would have been too late to prevent
the evil.

For a long time these Indians lay side by side on their outspread
blankets, with their feet to the fire, gazing through the branches at
the stars, and puffing away in profound silence, but probably deep
thought.  At least a sudden exclamation by Mozwa warrants that
conclusion.

"You think," he said, "that our old chief has the right spirit.  How do
you know what is the right spirit?  Alizay and Magadar, and many of our
braves--especially the young ones--think that a fiery spirit, that
flares up like powder, and is always ready to fight, is the right one.
You and our old chief think that gentleness and forbearance and
unwillingness to fight till you cannot help it is the right spirit.  How
do you know which is right?  You and the war-lovers cannot both be
right!"

There was an expression of great perplexity on the Indian's face as he
uttered the last sentence.

"My son," replied Nazinred, who, although not much older than his
companion, assumed the parental _role_ in virtue of his chieftainship,
"how do you know that you are alive?"

This was such an unexpected answer that Mozwa gazed fixedly upwards for
a few minutes without making any reply.

"I know it," he said at length, "because I--I--know it.  I--I _feel_
it."

"How do you know," continued the chief, with perplexing pertinacity,
"that the sun is not the moon?"

Again Mozwa became astronomically meditative.  "Because I see it and
feel it," he replied.  "The sun is brighter and warmer.  It cheers me
more than the moon, and gives me more light, and warms me.  It warms the
bushes and flowers too, and makes them grow, and it draws the beasts out
of their holes.  Even a rabbit knows the difference between the sun and
the moon."

"My son," returned Nazinred, "I have not lived very long yet, but I have
lived long enough to see, and feel, and know that the kind spirit is the
right spirit, because it warms the heart, and opens the eyes, and gives
light, and it is the only spirit that can make friends of foes.  Is it
not better to live at peace and in good-will with all men than to live
as enemies?"

"Ho!" responded Mozwa, by way of assent.

"Then the peaceful spirit is the right one," rejoined the chief, with a
long-drawn sigh that indicated a tendency to close the discussion.

As Mozwa felt himself to be in a somewhat confused mental condition, he
echoed the sigh, laid down his pipe, drew his blanket round him, and,
without the formality of "Good-night," resigned himself to repose.

Nazinred, after taking a look at the weather, pondering, perchance, on
the probabilities of the morrow, and throwing a fresh log on the fire,
also wrapped his blanket round him and lost himself in slumber.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

WILD DOINGS OF THE FUR-TRADERS AND RED MEN.

In course of time, after many a hard struggle with rushing rapids and
not a few narrow escapes from dangerous rocks, the Indian voyagers swept
out at last upon the broad bosom of Great Bear Lake.

This mighty inland sea of fresh water--about two hundred miles in
diameter, and big enough to engulf the greater part of Scotland--was, at
the time we write of, and still is, far beyond the outmost verge of
civilisation, in the remotest solitudes of the Great Lone Land.

Here the fur-traders had established a small trading-post close to the
shores of the lake.  It was in charge of a Scotchman--we had almost said
of course; for it would seem as if these hardy dwellers in the north of
our island have a special gift for penetrating into and inhabiting the
wildest and most unlikely parts of the world.  His name was MacSweenie,
and he had a few Orkney-men and half-castes to keep him company while
vegetating there.

It was a sort of event, a mild excitement, a pink--if not a red--letter
day, when our Indians arrived at that lonely outpost, and MacSweenie,
who was in the prime of life and the depths of _ennui_, gave the
strangers a hearty and warm reception.

Nazinred had been there before, and was able somewhat to subdue his
feelings of admiration and not-quite-exhausted surprise at all the
wonderful things he saw; but to the others it was comparatively new, and
Mozwa had never been at a trading-post in his life.  Being a sympathetic
man, he found it difficult to retain at all times that solemnity of
manner and look which he knew was expected of him.  The chief, who was
also sympathetic, experienced deep pleasure in watching his companion's
face, and observing the efforts he made to appear indifferent, knowing,
as he did, from former experience, that he must in reality be full of
surprise and curiosity.

And, truly, in the store of the fur-traders there was a display of
wealth which, to unaccustomed Indian eyes, must have seemed almost
fabulous.  For were there not in this enchanted castle bales of bright
blue cloth, and bright scarlet cloth, and various other kinds of cloth
sufficient to clothe the entire Dogrib nation?  Were there not guns
enough--cheap flint-lock, blue-barrelled ones--to make all the Eskimos
in the polar regions look blue with envy, if not with fear?  Were there
not bright beads and brass rings, and other baubles, and  silk
thread, enough to make the hearts of all the Dogrib squaws to dance with
joy?  Were there not axes, and tomahawks, and scalping-knives enough to
make the fingers of the braves to itch for war?  Were there not hooks
and lines enough to capture all the fish in Great Bear Lake, and "nests"
of copper kettles enough to boil them all at one tremendous culinary
operation?  And was there not gunpowder enough to blow the fort and all
its contents into unrecognisable atoms?

Yes, there was enough in that store fully to account for the look of
awe-stricken wonder which overspread the visage of Mozwa, and for the
restrained tendency to laughter which taxed the solemn Nazinred
considerably.

"You are fery welcome," said MacSweenie, as he ushered the chief and
Mozwa into the store the day after their arrival.  "We hev not seen one
o' your people for many a day; an' it's thinking I wass that you would
be forgettin' us altogether.  Tell them that, Tonal'."

Tonal', (or Donald), Mowat was MacSweenie's interpreter and factotum.
He was a man of middle age and middle height, but by no means middle
capacity.  Having left his native home in Orkney while yet a youth, he
had spent the greater part of his life in the "Nor'-West," and had
proved himself to be one of those quick learners and generally handy
fellows, who, because of their aptitude to pick up many trades, are too
commonly supposed to be masters of none.  Mowat, besides being a
first-rate blacksmith, had picked up the Indian language, after a
fashion, from the Crees, and French of a kind from the Canadian
half-castes, and even a smattering of Gaelic from the few Scotch
Highlanders in the service.  He could use the axe as well as forge it,
and, in short, could turn his hand to almost anything.  Among other
things, he could play splendidly on the violin--an instrument which he
styled a fiddle, and which MacSweenie called a "fuddle."  His
_repertoire_ was neither extensive nor select.  If you had asked for
something of Beethoven or Mozart he would have opened his eyes, perhaps
also his mouth.  But at a Strathspey or the Reel o' Tulloch he was
almost equal to Neil Gow himself--so admirable were his tune and time.
In a lonesome land, where amusements are few and the nights long, the
power to "fuddle" counts for much.

Besides being MacSweenie's interpreter, Donald was also his storekeeper.

"Give them both a quid, Tonal', to begin with," said MacSweenie.  "It
iss always politic to keep Indians in good humour."

Donald cut off two long pieces of Canada twist and handed it to them.
He cut them from a roll, which was large enough, in the estimation of
Mozwa, to last a reasonable smoker to the crack of doom.  They received
the gift with an expression of approval.  It would have been beneath
their dignity to have allowed elation or gratitude to appear in their
manner.

"Solemn humbugs!" thought the trader,--"ye know that you're as pleased
as Punch," but he was careful to conceal his thoughts.  "Now, then, let
us hev a look at the furs."

It took the trader and his assistant some time to examine the furs and
put a price on them.  The Indians had no resource but to accept their
dictum on the point, for there were no rival markets there.  Moreover,
the value being fixed according to a regular and well-understood tariff,
and the trader being the servant of a Company with a fixed salary, there
was no temptation to unfair action on his part.  When the valuation was
completed a number of goose-quills were handed to the Indians--each
quill representing a sum of about two shillings--whereby each man had a
fair notion of the extent of his fortune.

"What iss it you will be wanting now?" said the trader, addressing
himself to Nazinred with the air of a man whose powers of production are
illimitable.

But the chief did not reply for some time.  It was not every day that he
went shopping, and he was not to be hurried.  His own personal wants had
to be considered with relation to the pile of quill-wealth at his elbow,
and, what was of far greater importance and difficulty to a kind man,
the wants of his squaw and Adolay had also to be thought of.  Mozwa,
having left a squaw, two little daughters, and a very small son, had
still greater difficulties to contend with.  But they both faced them
like men.

"Pasgissegan," said both men, at length, simultaneously.

"I thought so," observed the trader, with a smile, as he selected two
trade-guns--the fire-spouters of the Eskimo--and handed them across the
counter.

The Indians received the weapons with almost tender care; examined them
carefully; took long and steady aim at the windows several times;
snapped the flints to make sure that the steels were good, and,
generally, inspected every detail connected with them.  Being satisfied,
they rested them against the wall, the trader withdrew the price of the
guns from the two little piles, threw the quills into an empty box under
the counter, and looked--if he did not say, "What next?"

Powder, shot, and ball came next, and then the means of hunting and
self-defence having been secured, beads and scarlet cloth for the women
claimed their attention.  It was an interesting sight to see these tall,
dark-skinned sons of the forest handling the cloth and fingering the
various articles with all the gravity and deliberation of experts, with
now and then a low-toned comment, or a quiet question as to the price.

"You'll want that," suggested Mowat, as he threw a small thick blanket--
quite a miniature blanket--towards Mozwa, "your small boy will want it."

"Ho!" exclaimed the Indian, with a look of surprise in spite of himself,
"how do you know?"

"I didn't know.  I only guessed; but your question shows me I'm right.
Any more?"

"Yes, two more, but bigger."

"Of course bigger, for it's not likely they were all born at the same
time," returned Mowat, with a grin.

"What iss this man wantin', Tonal'?  I can't make him out at all," asked
MacSweenie.

It was found that Nazinred had been pointing with eager pertinacity at
something lying on one of the shelves which had caught his eye, but the
name of which he did not know.

"Oh!  I see," added the trader, "it iss a cocktail feather you want."

"Yes, for my daughter," exclaimed the Indian as he received the feather
and regarded it with some uncertainty--as well he might, for the feather
in question was a thing of brilliant scarlet made up of many feathers,--
rigid and over a foot in height.

"It's not a good plaything for a child," remarked Mowat.

"My daughter is not a child--she is a woman."

"Wow, man," said MacSweenie, "tell him that feather is not for a woman.
It iss for a man."

The Indian, however, needed no explanation.  That which had captivated
him at a distance lost its attraction on closer examination.  He
rejected it with quiet indifference, and turned his eyes to something
not less attractive, but more useful--a web of brilliant light-blue
cloth.  He was very fond of Adolay, and had made up his mind to take
back to her a gift which she would be certain to like.  Indeed, to make
sure of this, he determined to take to her a variety of presents, so
that among them all she would be sure to find something to her taste.

In this way the Indians spent several days at the "fort" of the traders
on Great Bear Lake, and then prepared to return home with a canoe-load
of goods instead of furs.

Before leaving, however, they had a specimen of one of the ways in which
fur-traders in those lonely regions of the far north enjoy themselves.
The whole establishment consisted of the officer in charge--MacSweenie--
his interpreter Donald Mowat, and seven men--two of whom were French
Canadians, two half-castes, and three Orkney-men.  There were also three
women, two being wives of the men from Orkney, and one the wife of one
of the half-castes.

The greater part of the day previous to that on which they were to set
out on the return voyage, Nazinred and Mozwa spent in testing the
quality of their new guns in company with MacSweenie, who took his
faithful Donald Mowat with him, partly to assist in carrying the game,
and partly for interpreting purposes.  And a superb testing-ground it
was, for the swampy spots and mud flats were alive with wild-fowl of all
kinds, from the lively sandpiper to the great Canada grey goose, while
the air was vocal with their whistling wings and trumpet cries, so that,
whether they walked among the shrubs and sedges, or sat in ambush on the
rocky points, ample opportunity was afforded to test the weapons as well
as the skill of the owners.

The beginning of the day, however, was not quite satisfactory.  They had
scarcely proceeded more than a few hundred yards from the fort when a
flock of ducks was observed flying low and straight towards them.

"Down, man, quick!" exclaimed MacSweenie, crouching behind a large bush.
"You will get a goot chance, and the gun will kill if ye point
straight, for the trade-guns are fery goot, the most of--wow!"

The sudden end of his remark was caused by Nazinred firing, and
thereafter rising with the shattered fragments of the gun in his hand,
and a little blood trickling from one of his fingers, while an
expression of stern perplexity overspread his visage.

"Well, now, that iss most extraordinary," said the trader, examining the
weapon.  "I hev not seen such a thing for years.  To be sure, they are
cheap and made of cast-iron, but they seldom burst like that, an' they
usually shoot straight, whatever!--Tell him, Tonal', that he need not
concern himself, for I will give him another."

On this being translated, Nazinred seemed content, and began to examine
his hurt, which by good fortune was a slight one.

"It might have been worse," remarked Mowat gravely; "I've seen many a
man in this country with a short allowance of finger-joints from the
same cause."

"What you observe is fery true, Tonal'," said the trader, with a serious
air, "it might have been worse.  There was a bit of the barrel went past
my head that fery nearly put me on a short allowance of life.  But come
with me to the store an' we will choose a better one."

Half an hour sufficed to select another fowling-piece, which stood all
the tests to which it was subjected, and as evening was about to close
in the whole party returned well laden with game, and thoroughly pleased
with the weapons.

Meanwhile the men of the establishment had been variously employed,
cutting and hauling firewood, attending the nets, etcetera, while the
women had been busy making moccasins and mending garments.  The cook--an
Orkney-man--had made extensive preparations for a feast, but this was a
secret between him and MacSweenie; the latter being fond of occasionally
giving his people a surprise-treat.

It was not indeed easy to surprise them at that time with unusually good
food, for the land was swarming with spring life, and they daily enjoyed
the fat of it.  But there were some little delicacies which were not to
be had every day in the wilderness of the far north.  Among them was a
round object about the shape, size, and consistency of a large
cannon-ball, which was tied up in a cloth and seemed to require an
immense amount of boiling.  The smell of this was delicious, and, when
ultimately turned out of its cloth it presented a whitey-brown mottled
appearance which was highly suggestive.

The cook also had a peculiar talent for making cakes, which no
Nor'-Wester could imitate, but which any Nor'-Wester in the land could
eat.  There were other trifles which it would take too long to mention,
and large pots of tea which it would not take very long to drink.  That
was all the drink they had, happily, for strong young people with high
spirits do not require strong spirits to keep their spirits up!

After the feast, the tables and chairs were cleared away from the
central, or reception, hall of the fort, and preparations were made for
spending a harmonious evening; for, you see, stout people, in the prime
of life, who have not damaged themselves with strong drink, find it
difficult to exhaust their energies by means of an ordinary day's work.

"Now, Tonal'," said MacSweenie, "get out your fuddle an' strike up."

"The ladies have not finished their tea yet, sir," replied the
interpreter.

"Nefer mind that.  Just let them hear the strains of Lord Macdonald's
Reel, an' you'll make them chump whether they will or no."

Thus encouraged, Mowat began, and sure enough there was something so
inspiriting in the tuneful tones, the vigorously indicated time, and the
lively air, that the excited Highlander gave a whoop that threw Indian
war-cries quite into the shade, seized one of the "ladies" by an arm and
unceremoniously led her to the middle of the floor.  The cook, who was
used to his master's ways, led out one of the other ladies in a similar
free-and-easy manner, and soon two couples were thundering on the boards
in all the glorious _abandon_ of a Scotch reel.

They danced nothing but Scotch reels, for the good reason that none of
them could dance anything else.  Indeed, none of them, except
MacSweenie, could dance even these in correct fashion; but the reel,
like the Scotch character, is adaptable.  It lends itself to
circumstances, if we may say so, and admits of the absolutely ignorant
being pushed, trundled, shoved or kicked through at least a semblance of
it, which to the operators is almost as good as the reality.

Nazinred and Mozwa had never seen anything of the kind before, or heard
the strains of a "fuddle."  It may well be imagined, therefore, what was
the condition of their minds.  Native reticence stood them in good stead
for a considerable time, though, in spite of it, their eyes opened to an
extent that was unusual; but as the fun became faster and more furious,
their grave features relaxed, their mouths expanded, their teeth began
to show, and they looked at each other with the intent, probably, of
saying, "We never even dreamed of such things."  But that look wrought a
transformation, for when each beheld the other's grin of unwonted levity
he burst into a short laugh, then, becoming ashamed of themselves, they
suddenly resumed their expressions of owlish gravity, from which they
could not again be driven until a late period of the evening.

Frequent slices of the mottled cannon-ball, however, and unlimited mugs
of highly-sugared tea, had the effect of thawing them down a little, but
nothing could induce them to dance.

Next morning they were up by daybreak and ready to start for the farther
north.

"Now mind," said MacSweenie, through his interpreter, "don't you be
fechtin' wi' the Eskimos.  Dance wi' them if ye will, but don't fecht.
Better try an' trade wi' them.  An' be sure ye bring some more o' your
people wi' you the next time you come here.  We'll be glad to see you.
The more the merrier."

How Donald Mowat translated these words we cannot tell.  Perhaps he
added to them a few sentiments of his own.  However that may be, it is
certain that the Indians bade their entertainers farewell with feelings
of hearty good-will, and, leaving the lonely outpost behind them, set
off on the return journey to their wilderness home.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

SORROWS AND SINS, AND A BOLD ADVENTURE.

It was autumn before Nazinred and Mozwa drew near to their village.
They took things leisurely on the return voyage, for, as Indians have
little else to do besides hunt, trap, fish, eat, and sleep, they have no
particular inducement to hurry their movements.

It is true that, being affectionate men, they were naturally anxious to
rejoin their families, but being also steady-going, with considerable
powers of self-denial, they were good men-of-business, from a savage
point of view, and gave leisurely attention to the duties in hand.

On arriving at the outskirts of their village, they were surprised to
see that one or two children who were playing among the bushes, and who
could not have failed to see them, slunk away as if to avoid a meeting.
Whatever anxiety the men might have felt, their bronzed and stern
countenances betrayed no sign whatever.  Landing near the old chief's
hut, they drew up their canoe and Nazinred and Mozwa went to announce
their arrival.  It was contrary to Indian etiquette to betray
excitement, or to ask hasty questions.

They saluted the old man, handed him a plug of tobacco, and sat down to
smoke, and it was not till some time had elapsed that Nazinred calmly
asked if Isquay was well.

"Isquay is well," replied the old chief, and a barely perceptible sigh
of relief escaped Nazinred.

Then Mozwa asked about his wife and received a satisfactory answer.
Still, it was obvious to both men, from the old chief's manner, that
there was something wrong.

"Adolay", said the old man, and stopped.

"Dead?" asked Nazinred, with a look of alarm that he did not attempt to
conceal.

"No, not dead--but gone away," he replied, and then related in detail
the circumstances of the girl's disappearance.  It must have been a
terrible blow to the poor father, all the more that he was ignorant at
the time of the girl's motive for forsaking her home.  But no vestige of
feeling did he betray, save a slight contraction of his brows and a
nervous play of his fingers about the handle of his scalping-knife.
When the recital was ended he made no reply, but, rising slowly, left
the hut and went to his own home.

We will not follow him thither: there are some home-comings which are
better left undescribed.

But next day Nazinred relaunched his canoe, and, with a small quantity
of provisions and a large supply of ammunition, set off alone for the
shores of the Arctic Sea.  What he told his wife is not known, but he
gave no explanation whatever to any of his comrades as to his
intentions.

Arrived at the coast, however, his further advance was rendered
impossible by a sharp frost which created the first thin crust that was
ultimately destined to turn the sea into thick ice.  As even the
thinnest coat of ice would be certain destruction to birch-bark, the
canoe, he was well aware, was now useless.  He therefore returned home,
and quietly engaged in the ordinary hunting and fishing occupation of
his tribe, but from that date he sank into a state of silent despair,
from which his most intimate companions failed to rouse him.  Not that
he gave expression to his feelings by word or look.  It was
long-continued silence and want of interest in anything that told of the
sorrow that crushed him.  It is probable that the fact of Adolay being
capable of forsaking her parents in such a way tended to increase the
grief occasioned by her loss.  But he spoke of his feelings to no one--
not even to his wife.

Mozwa, who was very fond of his friend, and pitied him sincerely, made
no attempt to comfort him, for he knew the nature of the man too well to
think that by any words he could assuage his sorrow.

All the fine things that Nazinred had brought home, and with which he
had hoped to rejoice the hearts of his wife and child, were utterly
neglected.  He let Isquay do what she pleased with them.  The only thing
that seemed to comfort him was the tobacco, for that, he found, when
smoked to excess, blunted the edge of his feelings.

He therefore gave himself up to the unlimited use of this sedative, and
would no doubt have become, like many others, a willing slave to the
pipe, but for the fortunate circumstance that the supply of tobacco was
limited.  As the autumn advanced, the diminishing quantity warned him to
restrain himself.  He eked it out by mixing with it a kind of leaf much
used by Indians for this purpose, but which, by itself, was not
considered worth smoking.  Even with this aid, however, he was compelled
to curtail the indulgence; then the weed failed altogether, and he was
finally induced to engage in philosophical meditations as to the folly
of creating a needless desire which could not be gratified.  The
unsatisfied craving, coupled with the injury to his health, added
considerably to the grief with which he was already oppressed.  He had a
powerful constitution, however.  The enforced abstinence soon began to
tell in his favour, and he actually had the courage, not to say wisdom,
to refuse occasional pipes offered him by Mozwa when he chanced to visit
his friend.

As that friend had not the loss of an only child to mourn, but, on the
contrary, was called upon to rejoice in the addition of a new baby, the
fine things that he had brought home were the cause of great
satisfaction to his family.  But alas!  Mozwa, although almost perfect,
for a savage, had one fault--one besetting sin and moral disease--he
gambled!

We almost hear the exclamation of surprise, if not doubt, with which our
reader receives this information.  Yes; North American Indians are
gamblers; many of them are confirmed gamblers.  They do not indeed
affect anything so intellectual as chess or so skilful as billiards, but
they have a game to the full as intellectual and scientific as that
_rouge et noir_ of Monaco with which highly cultivated people contrive
to rob each other by mutual consent, and without being ashamed!  Their
game is not unknown to the juveniles of our own land.  It goes by the
name "odd-or-even."

The manner of conducting the game varies a little here and there in its
details, but its principle is the same everywhere: "I want your
possessions, and get them I will, by hook or crook!  I couldn't think of
robbing you--O no; there might be jail or penal servitude on the back of
that; and I won't accept your gifts--good gracious, no! that would
involve the loss of self-respect.  No, no.  Let us humbug each other.  I
will rob you if I can, and you will rob me if you can, and we'll
mutually agree to throw dust in each other's eyes and call it `play'!
Nothing, surely, could be fairer than that!"

Of course poor Mozwa did not reason thus.  He was not cultured enough
for that.  In fact, he did not reason at all about the matter, as far as
we know, but there can be no question that the poor fellow was smitten
with the disease of covetousness, and instead of seeking for a cure,
like a manly savage, he adopted the too civilised plan of encouraging
and excusing it.

Aware of his propensities, Mrs Mozwa was much too knowing to allow the
goods and trinkets destined for herself and family to remain in his
power.  She at once appropriated them, and secreted such of them as she
did not require for present use.  But there were articles which she
could not well treat in that way with any shadow of excuse: for
instance, the gun, powder and shot, bows and arrows, tobacco and pipes,
hatchets and scalping-knives, blankets and masculine garments, which
were in daily use.  These were frequently lost and re-won before winter
had fairly begun, but Mozwa was too fond of the excitement of gambling
to make desperate ventures all at once.  He liked to spin it out.

One night he had what is styled a "run of bad luck."  Being in something
of a reckless mood, he went to visit a young friend who was as fond of
gambling as himself, and took most of his worldly possessions with him.
The friend, with a number of companions, was seated beside the wigwam
fire, and quite ready to begin.

Taking a button, or some such object, in his hand, and putting both
hands behind his back, the friend began to bob his head and shoulders up
and down in an idiotic fashion, at the same time chanting in a sing-song
monotone, "Ho yo, yo ho, hi ya yoho!" for a considerable length of time,
while Mozwa staked his blanket, a fine thick green one, purchased at
Great Bear Lake.  We forget the friend's stake, but it was probably
supposed to be an equivalent.

Suddenly the yo-ho-ing ceased, both hands, tightly closed, were brought
to the front, and the whole party gazed at Mozwa with intense
expectation.  He was not long in making up his mind.  He pointed to the
left hand.  It was opened, and found to be empty!  The blanket was lost.
Back went the hands again, and the "yo-ho-ing" was continued.  The new
gun was the next stake.  It also was lost; and thus the game was carried
on far into the night, with smaller stakes, until Mozwa had lost almost
all that he had brought with him--gun, blanket, pipes, tobacco, flint
and steel, fire-bag, and even his coat, so that he walked home a
half-naked and nearly ruined man!

But ruin in the wilderness of North America is not usually so thorough
as it often is in civilised lands, owing partly to the happy
circumstance that strong drink does not come into play and complete the
moral destruction, as well as the physical, which gambling had begun.
The character therefore, although deteriorated, is not socially lost.
The nature of property, also, and the means of acquiring it, render
recovery more easy.

When Mozwa returned home _minus_ his new blanket and the beautiful
deerskin coat which his wife had made and richly ornamented for him with
her own brown hands while he was away, he found his old coat and his old
blanket ready for him.  The old gun, too, was available still, so that
he was not altogether disabled from attending to the duties of the
chase, and in a short time afterwards, "luck" being in his favour, he
had won back some of his lost possessions.  But he was too often in that
fluctuating state of alternating excitement and depression which is the
invariable accompaniment, in a greater or less degree, of the gambler's
sin, whether carried on in the depths of the Arctic wilderness, the
well-named "hells" of London, or the gilded _salons_ of Monaco.

"You are a fool," said Nazinred one day to his friend--for even among
savages there are plain-spoken familiar friends gifted with common sense
enough to recognise folly, and spiritual honesty to point it out and
warn against it.

"Why does my brother say so?" asked Mozwa, who was not in the least
offended by the observation.

"Because you gain nothing by all your gaining except trouble and
excitement, and sometimes you gain loss.  Here you are, now, obliged to
take to your old gun, whose flint will hardly strike fire more than four
times out of ten; you are obliged to wrap yourself in the old blanket
full of holes; and you come to me to borrow powder and ball."

"That is true," replied Mozwa, with a look of self-condemnation.  "But,"
he added, with a sort of brightly apologetic glance, "sometimes I win,
and then I am well off, and it is Magadar who is the fool."

"Does it make you less of a fool because Magadar is one also?  Are you
comforted to-day, in your poverty, by the thought that you were well off
yesterday?"

Mozwa's bright glance faded slowly.  He was no match for his friend in
argument, and, possessing an honest spirit, the look of
self-condemnation began to creep again over his visage, but, being of a
sanguine temperament and hopeful nature, the bright glance returned
suddenly.

"Wisdom falls from the lips of my brother," he said.  "I was well off
yesterday and I am badly off to-day, but I may be well off again
to-morrow--if I have good luck."

"Yes, and if Magadar has bad luck?" returned his friend.  "You cannot
both have good luck.  Whatever one gains the other must lose--and so it
goes on.  Should wise men act thus?"

Mozwa was silent.  His friend had never before spoken to him in this
way.  Indeed, no member of the tribe had ever before given utterance to
such curious opinions.  He knew not what to reply, and Nazinred relapsed
into the moody silence which had characterised him more or less since he
became aware of his daughter's departure.

The short autumn of those Hyperborean regions having passed away, the
land was speedily locked in a garment of ice and snow, and the long
stern winter began.

It was not long before all the lakes and rivers set fast.  At first only
the lakes solidified, then the more sluggish streams, while the rapids
showed out inky black by contrast.  Gradually the liquid margins of
these were encroached on by the irresistible frost, until they were
fairly bridged over, and their existence was only recalled to memory by
hollow rumblings below the ice.  At last the intensity of the cold
overcame the salt sea itself; the floes, hummocks, and bergs became
united into one universal mass, and every sign of liquid disappeared
from the polar regions.

It was when this condition of things had arrived that the heart-crushed
Nazinred proceeded to carry out a plan over which he had been brooding
ever since his return from Great Bear Lake.  His inquiries had led him
to believe that the Eskimo who had carried off his child belonged to the
tribe which had recently been pursued by his compatriots, and that they
probably dwelt among the islands, some of which were seen, and others
known to exist, off the Arctic coast opposite the mouth of the Greygoose
River.  Moreover, a faint hope, that he would have found it difficult to
define, was aroused by the fact that the kidnapper of his child had
formerly been the rescuer of his wife.

As we have seen, his first attempt to go off in his canoe in search of
Adolay was frustrated by young ice forming on the sea, and for a
considerable time afterwards the Arctic Sea was impassable to any kind
of craft.  Now that the sea had set fast, however, his difficulty was
removed, and he resolved to undertake the journey on foot.

Well he knew that no man of his tribe, not even Mozwa, would agree to
accompany him on such a wild-goose chase.  He therefore not only
refrained from making to any of them the proposal, but avoided any
allusion to his intentions.  Knowing also that Isquay was gifted with
such an intense desire for sympathy that she could not resist
communicating whatever she knew to a few of her dearest friends--in the
strictest confidence--he did not mention the matter to her until all his
preparations were completed.  Then he told her.

Like a good submissive squaw, she made no objection, though the
expression of her face showed that she felt much anxiety.

"Who goes with you?" she asked.

"No one."

"Is it wise to go alone?" she ventured to suggest.

"It may not be wise, but no one would go with me, I know, and I am
determined to find Adolay!"

"How will you travel?"

"With a sledge and four dogs.  That will enable me to carry food enough
for a long journey.  I will take my gun, of course."

"But what will you do for fire?" objected Isquay; "there are no woods on
the ice."

"I will do without it."

The poor woman was so amazed at this reply that she gave up further
questioning.

"You have plenty strong moccasins ready, have you not?" asked Nazinred,
"and pemmican, and dried meat?"

"Yes, plenty.  And your snow-shoes are mended, and very strong."

"That is well.  I will take them, but I do not expect to use them much,
for the snow on the Great Salt Lake is not soft like the snow in the
woods."

It was afternoon when this conversation was held, and very dark, for the
sun had by that time ceased to rise much above the horizon, even at
noon.  Late in the night, however, there was brilliant light both from
the stars and the aurora.  Taking advantage of this, Nazinred left his
lodge and hastened to the outskirts of the village, where a little boy
awaited him with the sledge and team of dogs all ready for a start.

Without saying a word the Indian put on his snow-shoes and took hold of
the tail-line of the sledge, which was heavily laden, and well packed.
With a slight crack of the whip he set the team in motion.

"Tell the old chief," he said to the boy at parting, "that I go to seek
for my daughter among the people of the Frozen Lake.  When I find her I
will return."



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

NAZINRED'S JOURNEY OVER THE ARCTIC SEA.

While our Indian travelled through the woods he and his dogs were on
familiar ground.  He encamped at night in the way to which he had been
accustomed all his life.  That is to say, he selected a spot under a
spreading fir-tree, dug away the snow until he got to the ground, which
he covered with a carpet of pine branches.  At one end of this
encampment--or hole in the snow of ten feet or so in diameter--he made a
huge fire of dead logs.  At the other end he spread his blanket,
unpacked his sledge, fed his dogs with some willow-grouse provided for
the purpose, warmed up his pemmican and dried meat, melted some snow for
drink, and spent the night in comparative comfort.  And it is wonderful,
reader, how cosy such an encampment in the snow is, when food is
plentiful and health strong.

But when our Indian quitted the shore, and began his daring journey on
the Arctic Sea, he was surrounded by new and unfamiliar conditions.  No
trees were to be had for firewood, no branches for bedding, no
overhanging pines for shelter.  He had gone there, however, prepared for
the change.

The sea near the shore had been set fast when in a comparatively smooth
condition, so that, the first day's march over, it was easy.  As he had
expected, the surface of the snow had been drifted quite hard, so that
he could dispense with snow-shoes altogether, and the four dogs found
the sledge so light that they felt disposed now and then to run away
with it; but Nazinred checked this propensity by holding on to the
tail-line, thus acting as a drag.  Ere long the shore was left out of
sight behind, and the first of the islets--a small group--also passed
and left behind.

When night was well advanced the Indian found himself on the ice of the
open sea with nothing but hummocks and bergs to shelter him.  Being
acquainted, by hearsay at least, with some of the methods of the
Eskimos, he avoided the bergs, for there was the danger of masses
falling from their sides and from overhanging ice-cliffs, and selected a
small hummock--a heap of masses that had been thrown or crushed up
earlier in the winter, covered with snow, and formed into a solid mound.
The light air that blew over the frozen plain was scarcely worth taking
into account, nevertheless the Indian chose the lee side of the hummock
and then began to try his "prentice hand" at the erection of a snow-hut.

Nazinred had indeed some doubts as to the value of such a cold
habitation without fire, but he knew that Eskimos sometimes used such,
and what they could do he could dare.  Besides, love is strong as
death--and he meant to find Adolay or die!

His hut, as might have been expected, was not such as an Eskimo
architect would have praised, but it was passable for a first attempt.
He knew that the northern masons built their winter dwellings in the
form of a dome, therefore he essayed the same form; but it fell in more
than once before the keystone of the arch was fixed.

"Never mind," thought Nazinred; "they have done it--I can do it."

Nothing is impossible to men of this stamp.  He persevered, and
succeeded after a couple of hours in producing a sort of misshapen
bee-hive about six feet in diameter, and four feet high.  The slabs of
snow of which it was composed were compact and solid, though easily cut
with his scalping-knife, and formed bricks that could resist the
influence of the fiercest gale.  At one side of the hut he cut a hole
for a doorway, and reserved the piece cut out for a door.  It was just
big enough to let his broad shoulders pass through, and when he got
inside and lay down at length to test it, he gave a slight "humph!" of
satisfaction.  Not that the chamber was cheerful--far from it, for it
was intensely dark,--but our Indian was a practical man.  He did not
require light to enable him to sleep or rest.

While engaged in constructing the hut, he observed that the four dogs
were sitting on their tails doing nothing except gazing in curiosity, if
not surprise, at his unwonted proceedings.  Being a busy man, he
naturally disliked idlers, and therefore unlashed some food from his
sledge and served out their supper by way of giving them something to
do.  They ceased idling at once, but after supper sat down on their
tails again to watch as before, though in a more languid frame of mind.

When the hut was finished he sat down outside, the night being clear and
comparatively warm, or rather, we should say, not bitterly cold.  During
the meal he kept up the interest of the dogs to a keenly hopeful point
by occasionally tossing a morsel to each.  When the meal was over, and
they knew from long experience that nothing more was to be hoped for,
they curled themselves up in the lee of the hut, and, with a glorious
disregard of bedding and all earthly things, went to sleep.

It was found rather difficult to get the sledge into the hut, as
Nazinred had forgotten to make allowance for its size, but by enlarging
the door and manoeuvring, the difficulty was overcome--a matter of
considerable importance, for there was no knowing what Arctic monsters
might take a fancy to play havoc with its contents while its owner
slept.

Then the Indian spread a large deerskin with the hair on over the floor
of his hut, and was about to spread his blankets above that, when he
remembered that he would want water to drink in the morning--for it is
well-known that eating snow during the intense cold of Arctic winters is
very hurtful.  He had provided for this by taking a bladder with him,
which he meant to fill with snow each night and take it to bed with him,
so that his animal heat--and he had plenty of that--might melt some of
it before morning.  He was then on the point of closing up the doorway
when it occurred to him that if the dogs were inside they might make the
place warmer, but upon reflection he feared that they might also make it
suffocating--for the dogs were large and the hut was small.  After
pondering the subject for a few minutes, he decided to take only one of
them inside.

"Attim, come," he said quietly, as if speaking to a human friend.

Attim, without any remark save a wag of his tail, arose promptly,
entered the hut, and lay down.  You see, he was accustomed to little
attentions of the sort.

At last, everything being completed, Nazinred closed the door, plastered
it well with snow round the seams, so as to render the place air-tight,
wrapped himself in his blankets, took the bladder of snow to his bosom,
laid his wearied head on one of his bundles, and prepared to slumber.

But ere he reached the land of forgetfulness an idea struck him, which,
Indian though he was, caused him to smile even in the dark.

"Attim," he murmured.

"Here you are," replied Attim's tail with a flop that was quite as
expressive as the tongue--and softer.

"You take charge of that," said the sly man, transferring the bladder of
snow from his own bosom to that of the dog; "you have more heat than I
have."

Whether the Indian was right in this belief we cannot say, but the
humble-minded dog received the charge as a special favour, and with an
emphatic "I will" from its ever-sensitive tail again lay down to repose.

Thereafter the two went to sleep, and spent six or seven hours of
unbroken rest, awaking simultaneously and suddenly to find that the dogs
outside were also awake and wishing to get in.  Indeed, one of them had
already scraped a hole in the wall that would soon have admitted him had
not his master given him a tap on the nose with the butt of his gun.

Of course it was still dark, for the morning was not far advanced, but
the star-light and the aurora were quite sufficient to enable them to
see their way, as they set out once more on their lonesome journey.

Breakfast was a meal of which Nazinred made no account.  Supper was his
chief stand-by, on the strength of which he and his dogs slept, and also
travelled during the following day.  Soon after they had awakened,
therefore, they were far from the hut in which the night had been spent.

The Indian's plan was to travel in a straight line in the direction in
which the Eskimos had been last seen.  By so doing he counted upon
either crossing their tracks, which he would follow up, or, coming to
some large island which might prove to be their winter quarters, would
skirt the shores of it in the hope of meeting with some of the tribes of
which he was in search.  The expedition, it will be seen, was somewhat
of the nature of a forlorn hope, for drifting snow quickly obliterates
tracks, and if the natives, when found, should turn out to be hostile,
they would probably take from him his little possessions, if not also
his life.  But Nazinred's love for Adolay was too strong to admit of his
allowing such thoughts to weigh with him.  Ere long, he found himself
far from his woodland home, lost among the rugged solitudes of ice, with
a fast diminishing supply of provisions, and, worst of all, no sign of
track or other clue to guide him.

One day, as he was plodding slowly northward, guided by the stars, his
faith in the success of his mission began to flag.  Hard continuous toil
and a weakening frame had no doubt something to do with his depression.
His dogs, also, were in much the same condition with himself,--growing
thin, and becoming less lively.  Clambering to the top of a hummock, he
surveyed the prospect before him.  It was not cheering.  The faint
daylight of noon was spreading over the frozen sea, bringing the tops of
the larger bergs out into bold relief against the steel-blue sky, and
covering the jumble of lumps and hummocks with a cold grey light.

Despite his resolute purpose the poor man sat down on a lump of ice,
buried his face in his hands, and meditated.

"Can it be," he thought, "that the Great Manitou knows my grief and does
not care?  Surely that cannot be.  I love my child, though she has fled
from me.  I am a child of the Manitou.  Does He not love me?  I will
trust Him!"

A cold object touched his hand at the moment.  It was the nose of the
faithful Attim.

Nazinred regarded the touch as a good omen.  He rose up and was about to
resume the journey in a more hopeful frame of mind when a dark cloud on
the horizon arrested his eye.  After a long gaze he came to the
conclusion that it was land.  Two hours later he arrived at Waruskeek,
and with a beating heart made straight for the huts, which could be
plainly seen on the shore.  But terrible disappointment was in store for
him.  On reaching the Eskimo village he found that it was deserted.

Nevertheless the improved state of mind did not quite forsake him.  It
was a comfort to have made a discovery of any kind, and was it not
possible that, during the brief daylight of the morrow, he might be able
to distinguish the tracks made by the party when they left the place and
follow them up?

With this idea in his mind he resolved to encamp on the spot, and
indulge himself as well as his dogs with a good feed and sleep.

With this purpose in view he collected all the bits of wood he could
find, and, with a few lumps of much-decayed blubber, made a rousing fire
in one of the huts.  The flame cheered his canine friends as well as
himself, and filled the place with a ruddy glow.  As the hut was
sufficiently large, he invited all the dogs to sup with him--an
invitation which, it is needless to say, they gladly accepted--and we
may add that the humble-minded Attim was not jealous.

The hut of which Nazinred thus took possession was that which belonged
to old Mangivik.  With his usually observant nature, our Indian looked
keenly about him while cooking his pemmican, noting every particular
with an intelligent eye.  Suddenly his gaze became fixed on a particular
corner.  Rising slowly, as if afraid of frightening away some living
creature, he advanced step by step toward the corner with eyeballs
starting nearly out of his head.  Then with a light bound he sprang
forward, grasped a little piece of cord, and pulled out from beneath a
heap of rubbish what appeared to be an old cast-off moccasin.  And such
indeed it was.  It had belonged to Adolay!  Nazinred, hastening to the
fire, examined it with minute care, and a deep "hoh!" of satisfaction
escaped from him; for he knew it well as being one of a pair made by
Isquay for her daughter's little feet.

Need we say that joy filled the Indian's heart that night, and a feeling
of gratitude to that mysterious ever-present yet never visible Being,
who--he had come to recognise in his philosophical way--must be the
author of all good, though his philosophy failed to tell him who was the
author of evil.  Nazinred was not by any means the first savage
philosopher who has puzzled himself with that question, but it is due to
him to add--for it proves him more scientific than many trained
philosophers of the present day--that he did not plead his ignorance
about his Creator as an excuse for ingratitude, much less as a reason
for denying His existence altogether.

But there was a surprise in store for our Indian chief which went far to
increase his grateful feelings, as well as to determine his future
course.  On looking about the deserted village the following day for
further evidences of his child having been there, he came upon a post
with a piece of birch-bark fastened to it.  The post was fixed in the
ice close to the shore, where in summer-time the land and sea were wont
to meet, and from which point tracks in the snow gave clear indication
that the Eskimos had taken their departure.  This post with its piece of
bark was neither more nor less than a letter, such as unlettered men in
all ages have used for holding intercourse with absent friends.

Knowing her father's love for her, and suspecting that, sooner or later,
he would organise a search party--though it never occurred to her that
he would be so wild as to undertake the search alone--Adolay had erected
the post when the tribe set out for winter quarters, and had fixed the
bark letter to it for his guidance.

The writing on the letter, we need 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.

But on the fourth day out there came symptoms of a change.  The chief
had adopted the plan of travelling during every hour of the short day,
or twilight, in order to make more sure of not missing the trail, and
the stars with frequent aurora borealis had made each night so brilliant
that he advanced almost as easily as during the day-time.  The fourth
day, however, on awaking, his ears were greeted with sounds that caused
him to rise in haste and force out the door of his sleeping hut, when to
his dismay he found that a furious gale was blowing, that the sky was
black, and that he could hardly see the poor dogs, whom he found
crouching as close as possible on the sheltered side of the hut.  In
these circumstances, to advance without losing his way was impossible,
so that he was compelled to make the most of his time by sleeping as
much as he could.

To do him justice he possessed a wonderful capacity in that way.  Having
put the sledge outside in order to make room, he called all the dogs in,
resolving that the poor things should not be exposed to the pitiless
storm.  Then, having fed himself and them, he lay down with them and was
soon in happy oblivion.

Of course he had no artificial means of measuring time, and, the sky
being overclouded, darkness visible pervaded the region.  But a healthy
stomach helped in some degree to furnish a natural chronometer, and its
condition when he awoke suggested that he must have slept till near
daylight of the following day.  Rousing the dogs, he gave them a feed,
ate heartily himself, and then went out to look at the weather.

The sight which the grey dawn rendered barely visible was one which
caused him to return to the hut with extreme promptitude for his gun,
for, about fifty yards off, were two white polar bears of apparently,
colossal size, frolicking about in a curious manner, and evidently
amusing themselves with something.  The something turned out to be the
chief's sledge, which the bears had unpacked; eating whatever they had a
fancy for, scattering about what they did not want, smashing the sledge
itself to pieces, and twisting the leathern wraps and cordage into
unimaginable knots.

Nazinred did not discover all this at once, being too much excited by
the unexpected visit to note trifling details.  Besides, prompt action
was necessary, for the four dogs, on becoming aware of what was
transacting outside, made a united and clamorous dash at the foe.  Two
of them, being too valorous, ran close up to the bears, who seemed to
regard them with haughty surprise.  Another movement and the two dogs
rose into the air with a yell in unison, and fell back upon the snow,
where they lay motionless.  The other two, learning wisdom from
experience, kept back and barked furiously.

Nazinred, although taken by surprise, was used to sudden alarms and not
easily frightened.  Knowing that the two dogs were very courageous, and
therefore all the more likely to run into danger, he sprang forward
towards the nearer of the two bears.  It rose on its hind-legs to
receive him, and in this position appeared to stand at least eight feet
high.  Without a moment's hesitation the Indian pointed his gun when the
muzzle was not more than a foot from the creature's breast, and fired.
The bear fell dead on the instant, shot through the heart.

The loud report and flash frightened the other bear away.  It was
closely followed, however, by the dogs, and the chief availed himself of
the opportunity to re-load.  While he was thus engaged a peculiarly loud
yell told only too plainly that one of the remaining dogs was injured,
if not killed.  He called to the remaining one to come back.  Obedient
to the call it returned, and, to its master's great relief, proved to be
his favourite Attim, a good deal cut about the shoulders and much
crestfallen, but not seriously injured.

"Down, Attim," said his master.

The poor creature obeyed at once, and his master hurried forward, but
the bear had retired.

The result of this encounter was that three of the dogs were killed,
many of his things destroyed, and his provisions rendered almost
useless, while the sledge was irreparably broken to pieces.  There was
daylight enough to render the extent of his misfortune visible, and to
show him that the trail which he had been following so long was drifted
over and entirely obliterated.

To a man of weak resolution this might have been overwhelming, but
Nazinred was very much the reverse of weak, and his utter recklessness
of life in his endeavour to recover his lost child would have rendered
him a hero for the time being, even if he had not been one by nature.

After collecting the remains of his property, and ascertaining that the
sledge was hopelessly destroyed, he made up his mind to carry the
provisions on his back and push forward in the direction pointed out by
Adolay until he found her.  If he did not succeed, the failure of his
food would soon end the struggle.

It was some consolation to the unfortunate man that his favourite dog
had been spared.  The amount of "company" afforded even by an ordinary
dog is well-known, but the civilised world can but feebly understand the
value of a more than usually affectionate creature in the forlorn
circumstances in which our Indian was now placed.  Like many other
people, he had got into the habit of talking to the dog about himself
and his affairs, as if it were human.  Whether he held the opinion we
have heard so often expressed that "he understands every word I say," we
cannot tell, but the gravity of his expression and the solemnity of his
tone when conversing with it, encouraged that belief, and the very
earnest attention of the dog almost justified it.

But the friendly feelings existing between them did not relax the
chief's notions of discipline.  Attim was not permitted to follow his
master as an idle companion.  He was made to carry, or rather to drag,
his own food, by means of a collar with two pieces of stick attached,
the ends of which trailed on the ice, thus forming as it were a pair of
trains without wheels.  This is a simple contrivance, largely used by
the prairie Indians with their horses as well as dogs.  The two sticks
or poles, being long, project a good way behind the animal, thus leaving
space for a load.  As the poles are suited to their size, each horse or
little dog is loaded with an appropriate bundle, and it is to be
presumed does not feel overburdened.

When all was arranged, Nazinred started off with a large pack on his
broad shoulders, and Attim, with a small bundle, followed close at his
heels.

Of course the Indian shouldered his gun, and he slung upon it his
snow-shoes, for the hard-driven snow rendered these unnecessary at the
time.  He also carried with him a bow and quiver of arrows, with the
ornamented fire-bag--made for him by Adolay--which contained his flint,
steel, and tinder as well as his beloved pipe and tobacco.

Things went well with him for the first few days, and although the trail
was now lost, he guided himself easily by the stars, of which he had
been careful to take note and make comparison with the hand in the
letter before disturbing its position.  But one night the sky became
overcast, and he would have been compelled to halt had he not previously
laid his course by several huge icebergs which towered up in the far
distance.

When he had passed the last of these bergs, however, he began to
hesitate in his movements, and Attim, trotting quietly by his side,
looked inquiringly up into his face once or twice with the obvious
question, "What's the matter?" in his soft brown eyes--or some Dogrib
idiom equivalent thereto.

"I'm afraid to go on," murmured the Indian gravely.

To this Attim replied with a reassuring wag of his tail.

"Without stars it won't be easy to keep the straight line," continued
the chief, stopping altogether and looking up at the clouds.

Attim also looked up, but evidently could make nothing of it, for he
turned his eyes again on his master and wagged his tail dubiously.

At the moment a rift in the clouds revealed some of the stars, and the
Indian, regaining his direction again, hurried forward--all the more
rapidly that a pretty stiff fair wind was blowing, to speak nautically,
right astern of him.

By degrees the breeze increased to a gale, and then to a regular
hurricane, which whirled among the bergs and hummocks, shrieked round
the ice-pinnacles, and went howling over the plain of the solid sea as
if all the Hyperborean fiends had been let loose and told to do their
worst.  Its violence was so great that the Indian was forced to scud
before it, and more than once Attim's little bundle caught the blast and
whirled him round like a weathercock, while the drifting snow at last
became so thick that it was impossible to see anything more than a few
yards ahead.  In these circumstances to advance was madness.

"It won't do, pup," cried Nazinred, turning suddenly to his right round
a mass of ice, and taking shelter in the lee of a towering berg; "come,
we will encamp here."

He had scarcely uttered the words when a tremendous rending sound was
heard above the noise of the hurricane.  The Indian looked up quickly,
but nothing was to be seen anywhere save that wild confusion of whirling
snow, which in more southerly lands is sometimes called a blizzard, and
the back-whirl of which nearly suffocated man and dog.  Suddenly there
came a crash as if a mountain were being shattered near them.  Then
Nazinred saw, to his horror, that an ice-pinnacle as big as a church
steeple was bowing forward, like some mighty giant, to its fall.  To
escape he saw was impossible.  It was too near and too directly above
his head for that.  His only hope lay in crushing close to the side of
the berg.  He did so, on the instant, promptly followed by the dog, and
happily found that the ice-wall at the spot was slightly concave.

Another moment and the stupendous mass fell with an indescribable crash,
which was prolonged into sounds that bore quaint resemblance to the
smashing up of gigantic crockery, as the shivered atoms shot far away
over the frozen plain.  But the chief heard nothing of this save the
first great crash, for the avalanche, although it passed harmlessly over
his head, had buried him in what seemed to him a living tomb.

The chamber in which he and his dog were thus enclosed was of course
absolutely dark--a darkness that might be felt; and the man would have
been more than human if he had not experienced a sinking of the heart as
he contemplated his awful position.  Once again arose in his mind the
question, Does the Maker of all care nothing about such things?  The
feeling deepened in him that such could not be true,--that the
All-Father must certainly care _more_ for His children than ordinary
fathers for theirs, and with that thought came also the old feeling, "I
will trust Him."  The poor dog, too, had the consolation of trust, for
it rubbed its head against its master with a touch that implied implicit
belief in his power to deal effectively with any difficulty whatever.

Feeling his way carefully round the walls of his prison, the Indian
ascertained that it was not much more than about twelve feet long by
three or four broad.  On one side was the comparatively smooth wall of
the berg, but for the hollow in which he would have been crushed; in
front was the rugged heap of confused masses which had thoroughly closed
him in.  There was no outlet anywhere; he felt assured of that after
three careful examinations of the chamber, and how many thousand tons of
ice lay between him and liberty of course he could not guess.

There was only one course open to him now, and that was to cut his way
out with his hatchet.  Before beginning to act he unstrapped his bundle
and sat down to eat, having previously relieved Attim of his load and
given him some food.  Everything he did had to be done by feeling, for
he could not see his hand even when held only an inch from his face.

Then he set to work.  It was difficult at first, for he had to strike
out at random, sometimes hitting a lump of ice unexpectedly, sometimes
just tipping it, and occasionally missing it altogether, when the axe
would swing round behind him, to the great danger of Attim, who insisted
on keeping close to his master's heels wherever he went.  By degrees,
however, he learned to guess more correctly the position of the walls,
especially after he had advanced a few feet and cut a tunnel, with the
shape and dimensions of which he soon became familiar.  For hours he
laboured with unflagging diligence, clearing back the ice debris into
the cavern from which he had started.  But no sign of open air rewarded
him.

At last, when almost exhausted, he made preparations for passing the
night where he was.  Before lying down he ate a hearty meal and fed the
dog, who indicated his satisfaction by an occasional whine and the usual
wag of the tail, which could be faintly heard though not seen.

A pipe of course followed, and during the process of lighting it he and
Attim obtained a fleeting glimpse of their abode.  As his materials
could not produce a flame--only a dull red glow--the glimpse was not
cheering, or of much value.

Then Nazinred spread a deerskin on the ice, rolled himself in his
blanket, pillowed his head on the dog, who seemed to be perfectly
satisfied with the arrangement, and went to sleep till--we cannot say
morning, for pitch darkness still prevailed, but till that point of time
when the stomachic chronometer awoke them.

After another feed the chief again set to work with indomitable
perseverance, and extended the tunnel during many hours; yet when he had
accomplished what appeared to him a long and severe day's work, it
seemed as if he were as far off as ever from deliverance.  Just as he
was giving way to weary disappointment, however, a rush of cold air came
against his face, and with an irrepressible exclamation of satisfaction
he found that his last blow with the axe had opened a way to the outer
world.  A few more strokes, delivered with unwonted vigour, set him
free, to find that the gale was over, that a profound calm prevailed,
and that the faint grey light of the Arctic noon was illuminating the
ghostly scene.

He also discovered that during his imprisonment a heavy fall of snow had
taken place, so that he sank a full foot into it--if not more--at every
step.  Congratulating himself on having brought his snow-shoes with him,
he at once put on those useful implements, and, having secured the pack
on his back, he once more set forth on his journey, beating a track as
he went on which the dog followed him with ease, though without such a
track the poor thing could not have travelled at all until the surface
of the snow had hardened.

But although our Indian's heart was lighter after his deliverance, the
toil which he had undergone, and the cold which he had experienced in
the berg, had told somewhat severely even on his hardy frame, and when
he built his hut that night it was with a feeling of despondency, for he
became aware of a considerable diminution of strength.  An unusually
keen frost on the following day increased this feeling, and when he was
about to encamp at night, Nazinred said to himself, as well as to his
dog, that he feared they would never complete their journey.

But "Hope springs eternal in the human breast."  On looking round for a
sheltered spot on which to build the snow-hut he observed three objects
in the distance which bore a strong resemblance to Eskimo dwellings.
Pushing forward eagerly, he soon reached them, and found that they were
indeed huts of these children of the ice, but that they were deserted.
The disappointment was very great, yet our chief bore up against it
manfully.  He made use of one of the huts as a resting-place for the
night.  Next morning he found that the prolonged strain had rendered him
much weaker than he had believed to be possible.  Diminishing
provisions, also, had increased the evil, and a still further fall in
the temperature induced a feeling of feebleness which the hitherto
vigorous man had never before experienced.

The idea of giving in, however, had never once entered his mind.  To
persevere in the search until success or death should arrest him had
been his fixed resolve from the beginning.

"Come on, pup," he said, patting the head of his faithful friend, as he
fastened on his snow-shoes and set forth.

To his surprise he found that he staggered a little at first, but as he
warmed to the work his vigour increased and his powers of endurance
seemed almost as strong as ever.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE ESKIMOS AGAIN, AND A GREAT DISCOVERY AND RESCUE.

While Nazinred, under the influence of strong affection, was thus
fighting with the unfamiliar difficulties and dangers of the polar sea,
Cheenbuk and his Eskimo friends were enjoying life in what may be called
their native element.

"Will Adolay come for a drive?" said our gallant Eskimo one day when the
sun had risen near enough to the eastern horizon to almost, but not
quite, extinguish the stars.  "We go to seek for walruses."

The Indian maiden was sitting at the time in the snow residence which
belonged to Mangivik.  Mrs Mangivik was sitting opposite to her mending
a seal-skin boot, and Cowlik the easy-going was seated beside her,
engaged with some other portion of native attire.  Nootka was busy over
the cooking-lamp, and old Mangivik himself was twirling his thumbs,
awaiting the result of her labours.  Oolalik was there too--he was
frequently there--courting Nootka in the usual way, by prolonged silent
staring.  The process might have been trying to some women, but Nootka
did not mind.  Like many young damsels, she was fond of admiration, and
could stand a good deal of it, no matter how peculiar the mode in which
it was expressed.

"I don't care to go," said Adolay, with a sigh.

Cheenbuk did not repeat the invitation or press for a reason.  He was a
considerate as well as a gallant youth.  He knew that the poor girl was
pining for her parents, and that she regretted having left them--even
although remaining in her native village might have involved her being
wed against her will to the hated Magadar, or subjected to his
persecutions during her father's absence.  Cheenbuk did his best to
comfort her with the assurance that he would take her back to her home
with the very first of the open water.  But when Adolay began to realise
what a very long time must elapse before the ice would reopen its
portals and set the waters free, her heart sank and she began to mope.

"We may as well have some women with us," remarked Oolalik, with a
pointed glance at Nootka, but Nootka took no notice of either the
observation or the glance.  Even Eskimo girls understand how to tease!

"Will Cowlik go?" asked Cheenbuk.

"Yes."  Cowlik smiled, and was quite ready to go.

"No, she won't," said Mrs Mangivik, with a positiveness almost European
in its tone.

"Very well."  Cowlik smiled, and was equally ready to remain.

Mangivik himself expressed no opinion on the subject, but twirled his
thumbs faster as he expressed a hope that the cooking would be soon
completed.

It was finally arranged that only young men should go, with sledges and
teams of dogs to fetch the meat home.

The little town in which this scene was being enacted was composed of
between twenty and thirty whitey-brown bee-hives of snow, of the usual
shape, ranged on the ice near the shore of a large island.  The scene
presented was a lively one, for while some of the inhabitants were
creeping into the small tunnels which formed as it were porches before
the doors, others were creeping out.  Men and dogs were moving about--
the former harnessing the latter to sledges in preparation for the
approaching hunt, while hairy little balls of children were scampering
about in play, or sitting on the tops of the snow bee-hives, watching
the proceedings with interest.

The Eskimo sledge is a contrivance of wood capable of accommodating five
or six men, and usually drawn by a team of from six to ten dogs, each
dog being fastened to it by means of a separate line of tough
walrus-hide.  In a short time the long-lashed, short-handled, powerful
whips cracked, the teams yelped, the men shouted, and away they all went
with much noise over the frozen sea.

After a short run the parties separated and went in different
directions.  Cheenbuk and his men drove in a southerly direction.  Soon
they came to a place which had been kept open by walruses as a
breathing-hole.  Here they got out, hid the sledge and dogs behind a
hummock, and, getting ready their spears and harpoons, prepared for an
encounter.  After waiting some time a walrus thrust its ungainly head up
through the young ice that covered the hole, and began to disport itself
in elephantine, or rather walrusian, gambols.

Tiring of this in a few minutes, it dived, and the natives ran to the
edge of the hole to be ready when it should come up again.  The animal
was a female, and a small one.  When it re-appeared harpoons and lances
were at once driven into it, and it was killed almost immediately.  This
is not always the result of such an encounter, for this elephant of the
polar seas is naturally a ferocious brute, and when bulls are attacked
they are prone to show fight rather than take fright.

Leaving the young men to skin and cut up the meat, Cheenbuk went on,
with only Anteek to keep him company, in search of another
breathing-hole.

"You must harpoon the next one all alone, and kill him without help,"
said Cheenbuk to his companion soon after they had started.

"I'll try," returned the boy, with the air of confidence befitting a
knight who had already won his spurs, yet with the modesty of a youth
who was aware of his fallibility.

But Anteek was not destined to distinguish himself that day, for, about
three miles beyond the place where the walrus had been slain, they came
across a track so singular that, on beholding it, they were stricken
dumb with surprise.

Stopping the dogs, they gazed at it for a few moments in speechless
wonder.

"I am not an old man," said Cheenbuk at length in a solemn tone, "but I
have seen most of the wonderful things in this world, yet have I never
seen a track like that!"

He pointed to the track in question, and turned a look of blazing
inquiry on Anteek.

"And I am not an old boy," returned the other, "but I too have seen a
good many of the wonderful things of this world, yet have I never even
dreamed of the like of that!"

It will doubtless strike the reader here, as an evidence that Eskimos
are under similar delusions to the rest of the human family, that these
two referred to that world of theirs as equivalent to the world at
large!

"What can it be?" murmured Cheenbuk.

"The very biggest bear that ever was, come to frighten the wisest people
that ever lived, out of their wits," suggested Anteek.

The face of the elder Eskimo underwent a sudden change, and an
intelligent expression flitted over it as he said--

"I know now--I remember--I guess.  You have often heard me talk of the
Fire-spouters, Anteek?  Well, the snow where they live is very deep and
soft--not at all like the snow here, except when our snow is
new-fallen--so that they cannot travel in the cold time without great
things on their feet.  That,"--pointing downward--"must be the track of
those great things, and there must be a Fire-spouter not far off."

"Perhaps a number of Fire-spouters--a war-party," suggested Anteek,
becoming excited.

"I think not, for there is only one track."

"But they may have walked in a row--behind each other."

"That is true.  You notice well, Anteek.  You will be a good hunter
soon."

He stooped as he spoke, to examine more carefully the track, which was
indeed none other than that made by the snow-shoes of Nazinred on his
weary and well-nigh hopeless journey over the frozen sea.

"Look here, Cheenbuk," cried the boy, whose excitement was increasing.
"Is there not here also the track of a dog, with a strange mark on each
side of it, as if it were drawing two lines as it went along?"

"You are right again, boy.  There is here the track of a dog, but there
is only one man.  Come, we will follow it up."

Jumping on the sledge again, the Eskimo cracked his whip and set the
dogs off at full gallop.

For some time they advanced, looking eagerly forward, as if expecting
every minute to come in sight of the man and dog who had made the
tracks, but nothing appeared for some hours.  Then they arrived at the
three huts where the Indian had received such a disappointment on
finding them deserted.  A close examination showed that the stranger had
spent a night in one of them, and, from various indications, Cheenbuk
came to the conclusion that he had been much exhausted, if not starving,
while there.

Getting on the sledge again, he continued to follow up the trail with
renewed diligence.

They had not gone far when an object was seen lying on the ice not far
ahead of them.

Anteek was first to catch sight of it, and point it out to his
companion, who did not speak, but let out his lash and urged the dogs
on.  As they approached, the object was seen to move, then there came
towards them what sounded like a prolonged melancholy howl.

"The dog is alive," whispered Anteek.

"I hope the man is--but I fear," returned his comrade.

In a few moments more they were alongside, and the dog started up with a
snarl as if to defend its master, who was lying motionless on the ice;
but the snarl was feeble, and the poor beast was obviously in a state of
exhaustion.

"He is not dead," said Cheenbuk, putting his hand over the Indian's
heart, while Anteek caught poor Attim by the nose and held him gently
back.

It turned out as the Eskimo had said.  Nazinred was not dead, but he was
very nearly so, and it is probable that another hour of exposure and
inaction would have ended the career of both himself and his dog.

He had walked on persistently until that peculiar feeling of an
irresistible desire to lie down and sleep overcame him.  No one knew
better than himself the danger of his condition, yet the fatal lethargy
is such that no resolution is sufficient to overcome it.  Lying, or
rather falling, down, he had remained still for a few moments--then the
state of quiet, but deadly repose had supervened and he would never have
risen again if succour had not been sent.

As it was, the Eskimos set to work with tremendous energy to chafe and
resuscitate him, but it seemed at first that they were too late.  By
dint of untiring perseverance, however, they became successful.  A
slight effort to exert himself was observable in the Indian, and then,
getting him on his feet, Cheenbuk on one side and Anteek on the other,
they forced him to stagger about until vitality began to revive.

"Now, boy, we'll get him into the sledge, and away back to the igloes."

Without delay they led Nazinred to the sledge, rolled him in a large
white bearskin, and tied him on.  While thus engaged Anteek observed
that Cheenbuk gazed for a few moments intently into the Indian's face,
and then became much and strangely excited.

"Is he going to die?" asked the boy anxiously.

"No, it is not that--but--but, I have seen this Fire-spouter before.  I
know him!  Quick, we _must_ save his life!"

If the life of Nazinred had depended on the speed of the Eskimo dogs
there would have been much hope of it, for Cheenbuk made them fly like
the wind until he regained the three igloes.  As for Attim, having, with
prompt sagacity, perceived that the strangers were friendly, he resigned
himself to his fate.  Indeed, his master had, in a dazed sort of way,
adopted the same course, and willingly submitted to whatever was done to
him.

Arrived at the deserted huts, the Indian was allowed to lie in his white
bearskin until the Eskimo had kindled a lamp, cooked some food, warmed
some water, and prepared a comfortable couch.  Then he went out to
unlash the sleeper.

"Now, Anteek, I'm going to send you away, and will expect you to be
quick and act like a man.  Drive the sledge back to where we killed the
walrus.  Let the men pack the meat on it and away back to our igloes.
It is not far.  You will soon get there if you make the dogs yelp.  When
you have arrived, and told your story, get a fresh team of dogs, and two
men, and come back here with a little meat and some more bearskins--and
do it all, boy, as fast as you can."

"I will," answered Anteek in a tone and with a look of decision that
were quite satisfactory.

It was difficult to rouse the Indian at first so as to get him to
stagger into the snow-hut, and he was more than half asleep all the
time, insomuch that when inside he fell down on the couch prepared for
him, and again sank into profound slumber.

Then Anteek started up, jumped on the sledge, and set off for home at
full speed.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

STRANGE CONVERSE AND DISCOVERIES.

Returning to the hut, Cheenbuk continued his culinary preparations with
great diligence, gazing often and earnestly, as he did so, at the thin
and careworn countenance of the sleeper.

Although Nazinred was considerably altered by fatigue and suffering, the
Eskimo entertained not the smallest doubt that he was the same Indian
with whom he had once struggled on the banks of the Whale, or Greygoose,
River.  Equally sure was he that the Indian, owing to his worn-out
condition when discovered, had not recognised himself, and the fancy
occurred to him that he would at first try to avoid recognition.  To
this end he pulled his hood a little more over his eyes, deepened the
colour of his face by rubbing it with a little lamp-black and oil, and
resolved to lower his voice a note or two when the time for speaking
should arrive.  That time was not long of coming; probably the
increasing warmth of the hut, or the smell of the seal-steak in the
nostrils of the half-starved man, may have had something to do with it,
but the meal was hardly ready when the Indian yawned, stretched himself,
sat up and gazed solemnly around.

"You are feeling better?" said Cheenbuk in his deepened tone, and in
broken Dogrib tongue.

The Indian fixed a steady gaze on him for nearly a minute before
replying.

"Yes," he said, in a dreamy tone, "I'm better.  If the Eskimo had not
been sent to me I had now been with my ancestors."

"No one sent me to you," returned Cheenbuk; "I found you lying on the
snow."

"The Great Manitou sent you," said the Indian gravely.

It was this touch of seriousness which had originally drawn those two
men together, but the Eskimo remembered that he was acting a part at the
moment, and that any expression of sympathy might betray him.  He
therefore made no rejoinder, but, placing the seal-steak on a flat
stone, bade the hungry man eat.

Nazinred required no pressing; he began at once, and was ready for more
almost before more was ready for him.  By persevering industry, however,
Cheenbuk kept his guest supplied, and when appetite began to fail he
found time to attend to his own wants and keep the other company.

Silence reigned at first.  When the Indian had finished eating he
accepted a draught of warm water, and then had recourse to his fire-bag
and pipe.  Cheenbuk expected this, and smiled inwardly, though his
outward visage would have done credit to an owl.

At last he looked up and asked the Indian how he came to be travelling
thus alone and so far from his native land.

Nazinred puffed a voluminous cloud from his lips and two streaming
cloudlets from his nose ere he replied.

"When my son," he said, "was on the banks of the Greygoose River his
voice was not so deep!"

Cheenbuk burst into a laugh and threw back his hood.

"You know me, then, you man-of-the-woods," said he, holding out his hand
in the white trader fashion which the other had taught him.

"When the men-of-the-woods see a face once, they never forget it,"
returned the Indian, grasping the proffered hand heartily, but without a
sign of risibility on his countenance, for in this, as we know, he
differed considerably from his companion; yet there was a something
about the corners of his eyes which seemed to indicate that he was not
quite devoid of humour.

"But how did you discover me?" resumed Cheenbuk.  "I not only spoke with
a deeper voice, but I put black and oil on my face, and pulled my hood
well forward."

"When the Eskimo wants to blind the man-of-the-woods," answered
Nazinred, sententiously, "he must remember that he is a man, not a
child.  The cry of the grey geese is always the same, though some of
them have deeper voices than others.  A face does not change its shape
because it is dirtied with oil and black.  Men draw hoods over their
faces when going out of a lodge, not when coming in.  When smoking
tobacco is seen for the _first_ time, surprise is always created.--
Waugh!"

"What you say is true, man-of-the-woods," returned Cheenbuk, smiling.
"I am not equal to you at deceiving."

Whether the Indian took this for a compliment or otherwise there was no
expression on his mahogany face to tell, as he sat there calmly smoking
and staring at the lamp.  Suddenly he removed the pipe from his lips and
looked intently at the Eskimo, who in turn regarded him with evident
expectation.

"My son," said Nazinred, "I have one or two questions to put to you.
You and I agree about many things.  Tell me, what would you think of the
fawn that would forsake its dam?"

Cheenbuk was puzzled, but replied that he thought there must be
something the matter with it--something wrong.

"I will tell you a story," continued the Indian, "and it is true.  It
did not come into my head.  I did not dream it.  There was a
man-of-the-woods, and he had a squaw and one child, a girl.  The parents
were very fond of this girl.  She was graceful like the swan.  Her eyes
were large, brown, and beautiful like the eyes of a young deer.  She was
active and playful like the young rabbit.  When she was at home the
wigwam was full of light.  When she was absent it was dark.  The girl
loved her father and mother, and never disobeyed them or caused them to
suffer for a moment.  One day, when the father was far away from home, a
number of bad Eskimos came and fought with the men-of-the-woods, who
went out and drove their enemies away.  They took one prisoner, a strong
fine-looking man.  One night the prisoner escaped.  It was discovered
that the girl helped him and then went away with him."

He paused and frowned at this point, and the startled Cheenbuk at once
recognised himself and Adolay as the hero and heroine of the story.

"Did the girl," he asked, "go away with the escaped prisoner of her own
will, or did he force her to go?"

"She went of her own will," returned the Indian.

"One of the women of the tribe followed her and heard her speak.  But
the father loved his child.  He could not hate her, although she forsook
her home.  At first he thought of taking all his young men and going on
the war-path to follow the Eskimos, slay the whole tribe, and bring back
his child.  But Manitou had put it in the father's mind to think that it
is wrong to kill the innocent because of the guilty.  He therefore made
up his mind to set off alone to search for his child."

Again Nazinred paused, and Cheenbuk felt very uncomfortable, for
although he knew that it was impossible for the Indian to guess that the
Eskimo with whom he had once had a personal conflict was the same man as
he who had been taken prisoner and had escaped with his daughter, still
he was not sure that the astute Red man might not have put the two
things together and so have come to suspect the truth.

"So, then, man-of-the-woods," said Cheenbuk at last, "_you_ are the
father who has lost his daughter?"

"I am," returned the Indian, "and I know not to what tribe the young man
belongs with whom she has gone away, but I am glad that I have met with
you, because you perhaps may have heard if any strange girl has come to
stay with any of the tribes around you, and can tell me how and where to
find her.  We named her Adolay, because she reminds us of that bright
season when the sun is hot and high."

Cheenbuk was silent for some time, as well he might be, for the sudden
revelation that the Indian who had once been his antagonist, and for
whom he had taken such a liking, was the father of the very girl who had
run away with him against her inclination, quite took his breath away.
It was not easy to determine how or when the true facts should be broken
to the father, and yet it was evident that something must be said, for
Cheenbuk could not make up his mind to lie or to act the part of a
hypocrite.

"I have heard of the girl-of-the-woods you speak of," he said at last;
"I have seen her."

For the first time since they met, the characteristic reserve of the
Indian broke down, and he became obviously excited, yet even then he
curbed his tongue for a few moments, and when he again spoke it was with
his habitual calmness.

"Does my son know the tribe to which she has been taken?  And is it well
with the girl?"

"He does.  And it is well with Adolay."

"Do they dwell far from here?" asked Nazinred, anxiously in spite of
himself.

"Not far.  I can soon take you to their igloes.  But tell me,
man-of-the-woods, do you think your child had no reason for leaving home
in this way except fondness for the young man?"

"I know not," returned the Indian, with a doubtful, almost a hopeful
look.  "What other reason could she have?  Her mother and I loved her
more than ourselves.  All the young men loved her.  One of them--a bad
one--had sworn to his comrades that he would have her for a wife in
spite of her father,"--he smiled very slightly at this point, with a
look of ineffable contempt--"but Magadar did not venture to say that in
her father's ears!"

"May it not have been fear of this man, this Magadar, which drove her
away?" suggested Cheenbuk.  "You were not there to defend her.  She may
have been afraid of him, although you fear him not."

"That is true," returned the Indian, with a brighter look, "though I
thought that Adolay feared nothing--but she is not her father."

This wise and obvious truism, or the words of the Eskimo, seemed to
afford some comfort to the poor man, for he became more communicative
and confidential after that.

"Do you think," asked Cheenbuk, "that your daughter has married this
young man?"

"I know not."

"Don't you think it is likely?"

"I fear it is not unlikely."

"Why should you fear it?  Are not the Eskimos as strong and brave as the
men-of-the-woods?"

For a moment the Indian looked at his companion with high disdain, for
the boastful question had aroused within him the boastful spirit; but
the look quickly disappeared, and was replaced by the habitual air of
calm gravity.

"It may be, as you say, that your nation is as brave and strong as
ours--"

"I did not say that," remarked the free-and-easy Eskimo, interrupting
his companion in a way that would have been deemed very bad manners in
an Indian, "I asked you the question."

With a look of deeper gravity than usual the Indian replied:

"To your question no true answer can be given till all the men of both
nations have tried their courage and their strength.  But such matters
should only be discussed by foolish boys, not by men.  Yet I cannot help
confessing that it is a very common thing among our young braves to
boast.  Is it so among the Eskimos?"

The Eskimo laughed outright at this.

"Yes," said he, "our young men sometimes do that--some of them; but not
all.  We have a few young men among us who know how to hold their
tongues and when to speak."

"That is useful knowledge.  Will my son speak now, and tell me what he
knows about Adolay?"

"He knows that she is well spoken of, and much loved by the tribe with
which she lives."

"That is natural," said the Indian, with a pleased look.  "No one who
sees Adolay can help loving her.  Does the young man who took her away
treat her kindly?"

"No one can tell that but herself.  What if he treated her ill?"

"I would hope never to meet with him face to face," replied Nazinred,
with a frown and a nervous clenching of the fist that spoke volumes.

"I have heard," continued Cheenbuk in a quiet way, "that the girl is
very sad.  She thinks much of her old home, and blames herself for
having left it."

"Good," said the Indian emphatically.  "That is like the child, to be
sorry when she has done wrong."

"And I have heard that the young man who took her away is very fond of
her--so fond that he will do whatever she likes to please her.  His name
is Cheenbuk.  She asked him to take her home again, and he has promised
to do so when the hot sun and the open water come back."

"Good.  The young man must be a good man.  Will he keep his promise?"

"Yes.  I know him well.  He loves truth, and he will do what he says."

"It is a long time till the open water comes.  Will the young Eskimo's
mind not change?"

"Cheenbuk's mind will not change.  He loves Adolay better than himself."

Nazinred pondered this statement for some time in silence, caressing the
sleek head of Attim as he did so.

"Will this young man, this Cheenbuk, be willing, do you think, to leave
her in the lodges of her people and give her up altogether?" he asked,
with a somewhat doubtful look.

"If Adolay wishes to be given up, he will," replied the Eskimo
confidently.

"And you know him well?"

"Very well.  No one knows him better."

Again the Indian was silent for some time.  Then he spoke in a low tone:

"My son has made glad the heart of the man-of-the-woods.  When we met by
the river and strove together, we were drawn by a cord that anger could
not snap.  It is strange that you should now be chosen by Manitou to
bring me such good news."

"Manitou can do stranger things than this, my father."

No more was said at that time, for, as both were thoughtful men, a
considerable space of time was allowed to elapse between each question
and answer.  Before it could be resumed the crack of a whip and loud
yelping were heard in the distance, and in a few minutes Anteek and two
men drove up to the igloe with the sledge and a fresh team of dogs.

"I sent for them," explained Cheenbuk.  "My father is tired, he will lie
down on the sledge with a bearskin round him, while I take him to the
igloes of my people.  After that I will take him to Adolay."

"Nazinred will not lie down.  He is no longer tired, for his heart is
glad."



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

KICK-BALL AND AN IMPORTANT MEETING.

We beg the reader now to accompany us to the Eskimo village, where the
men and boys are having a game at kick-ball, a favourite game with those
men-of-the-ice, which goes far to prove their kinship with ourselves.

But the details of the game are dissimilar in many ways--only the spirit
is the same; namely, an effort to rouse the bodily system to as near the
bursting-point as possible without an absolute explosion.

It was a lovely northern night.  There was a clearness in the still
frosty air which gave to the starry host a vivid luminosity, and seemed
to reveal an infinite variety of deep distances instead of the usual
aspect of bright spots on a black surface.  Besides the light they shed,
the aurora was shooting up into the zenith with a brilliancy that almost
equalled that of moonlight, and with a vigour that made the beholder
think there was a rustling sound.  Indeed, some of the natives stoutly
asserted that these lights did rustle--but among Eskimos, as among
ourselves, there are highly imaginative people.

Oolalik was there of course.  No game was thought complete without the
co-operation of that robust Eskimo.  So was Raventik, for the game of
kick-ball suited his bold reckless nature to perfection, and there were
none of the other players except himself capable of opposing Oolalik
with any hope of success.  Aglootook the magician also took part.  The
dignity of his office did not forbid his condescending to the
frivolities of recreative amusement.  Gartok was also there, but, alas!
only as a spectator, for his wound was not sufficiently healed to permit
of his engaging in any active or violent work.  His fellow-sufferer
Ondikik sat beside him.  He, poor man, was in a worse case, for the
bullet which was in him kept the wound open and drained away his
strength.  He was wrapped in a white bearskin, being unable to withstand
the cold.

The whole male population, except the old men and the wounded, took part
in the game, for the ball frequently bounded to the outskirts of the
ice-field, where the boys of every shape and size had as good a chance
of a kick as the men.  As the women stood about in all directions
looking on, and sending back the ball when it chanced to be kicked out
of bounds, it may be said to have been an exceedingly sociable game.

Old Mangivik took great interest, though no part, in it, and Mrs M was
not a whit behind him in enthusiastic applause whenever a good kick was
given.  Of course the fair Nootka was beside them, for--was not Oolalik
one of the players?  She would have scorned the insinuation that that
was the reason.  Nevertheless there is reason to believe that that had
something to do with her presence.

Our friend Adolay, however, was not there.  The absence of Cheenbuk may
have had something to do with her absence, but, as she was seated in
Mangivik's igloe moping over the lamp, it is more charitable to suppose
that a longing for home--sweet home--was weighing down her spirits.

Old and young Uleeta were looking on with great delight, so was Cowlik
the easy-going, and Rinka the sympathetic; and it was noticeable that,
every now and then, the latter distracted her mind from the play in
order to see that the bearskin did not slip off the shoulders of
Ondikik, and to replace it if it did.  Not that Rinka had any special
regard for Ondikik, but it afforded her intense pleasure merely to
relieve suffering in any way--so strong was the weakness for which she
got credit!

The game had lasted for a considerable time, and the players were
beginning to blow hard, when the ball, kicked by a surprisingly small
boy in disproportionately big seal-skin boots, chanced to fall between
Raventik and Oolalik.

"Oh!" exclaimed Nootka to herself, with a gasp of hope.

"Ho!" exclaimed Oolalik, with a shout of determination.

Raventik exclaimed nothing, but both young men rushed at the ball with
furious vigour.  The active Oolalik reached it first.

"Ah!" sighed Nootka with satisfaction.

"Hoh!" cried Oolalik, with a kick so full of energy that it would have
sent the ball far over a neighbouring iceberg, if it had not been
stopped dead by the broad face of Raventik, who went flat on his back in
consequence--either from the tremendous force of the concussion, or
because of a slip of the foot, or both.

This incident was received with shouts of laughter and great applause,
while Raventik sprang to his feet.  Instead of taking it in good part,
however, the reckless man allowed his temper to get the better of him,
and made a rush at Oolalik, who, being naturally peaceful in
temperament, dodged his adversary, and, with a laugh, ran away from him;
but the other was not to be baulked in this way.  A fight he was bent
on, so he gave chase at the top of his speed.  The man of peace,
however, was too fleet for him.  He kept just out of his reach, thereby
stimulating his rage and inducing many a "spurt" which proved abortive.
At last, being desirous of putting an end to the chase--or himself
losing patience, who knows?--Oolalik suddenly dropped on his hands and
knees, and Raventik, plunging headlong over him, fell flat on his breast
and went scooting over the ice for about ten or fifteen yards before he
could stop himself.  What would have happened after that no one can
tell, for just then the attention of the whole party was diverted by a
shout in the distance, accompanied by the cracking of a whip and the
usual sounds that announced an arrival.

A few seconds later and Cheenbuk drove his team into the village.

He had warned Anteek to say nothing about the finding of the Indian, and
the boy had been faithful to his trust, so that the whole population was
thrown into a state of wide-eyed amazement, not to mention excitement,
when the tall form of the Fire-spouter was seen to rise from the sledge
and turn his grave countenance upon them with the calm dignity
characteristic of his race.  The dogs of the village showed not only
surprise, but also their teeth, on observing Attim among the newcomers,
and they made for him, but a well-directed and sweeping cut from the
whip of the watchful Anteek scattered them right and left, and rebuked
their inhospitality.

Thereafter Cheenbuk began to tell how he had discovered the Indian on
the ice, and introduced the subject with some prolixity, like not a few
white men when they have a good story to tell.  Moreover, the wily man
had an eye to dramatic effect, and, observing that Adolay was not among
the women, he made up his mind to what is called "prolong the agony" as
far as possible.

Unfortunately for his purpose, there happened to be blowing at the time
a gentle nor'-west breeze, which, in its direct course towards them, had
to pass over the igloe that belonged to Mangivik, and the humble-minded
Attim, keen of scent, recognised something there that caused him
suddenly to cock his ears and tail, open his eyes, and give vent to a
sharp interrogative yelp!

Next moment he charged through the canine throng--scattering them in
abject terror--dashed into the tunnel of Mangivik's dwelling, and
disappeared from view.  Another moment and there issued from the igloe--
not a scream: Indian girls seldom or never scream--but a female
ebullition of some sort, which was immediately followed by the sudden
appearance of Adolay, with the dog waltzing around her, wriggling his
tail as if he wished to shake off that member, and otherwise behaving
himself like a quadrupedal lunatic.

Eager inquiry was intensified in every line of her expressive face, and,
withal, a half-scared look, as if she expected to see a ghost.  If she
had really seen one the effect could scarcely have been more impressive
when her eyes encountered those of her father.  She stood for a few
moments gazing, and utterly unable to move, then, with a wild cry of
joy, she bounded towards him.  In like manner the Indian stood at first
as if thunderstruck, for Cheenbuk's information had not led him to
expect this.  Then his wonted dignity utterly forsook him; for the first
time in his life, perhaps, he expressed his feelings of affection with a
shout, and, meeting the girl half-way, enfolded her in an embrace that
lifted her completely off her legs.

The Eskimos, as may well be imagined, were not only surprised but
profoundly interested in the scene, and Cheenbuk was constrained to draw
his narrative to an abrupt conclusion by informing them hurriedly that
the Fire-spouter was the father of Adolay; that he had left home alone
and on foot to search for her; that he was also the very man with whom,
on the banks of the Whale River, he had fought and fraternised, and that
therefore it behoved them to receive him hospitably as his particular
friend.

Cheenbuk spoke the concluding sentence with a look and tone that was
meant to convey a warning to any one who should dare to feel or act
otherwise; but there was little need of the warning, for, with the
exception of Aglootook the medicine-man, the chief leaders of the
fire-eating portion of the tribe, Gartok and Ondikik, were at the time
helpless.

While this irrepressible display of Dogrib affection was enacting, Attim
was performing a special war-dance, or rather love-dance, of his own
round the re-united pair.  He was an unusually wise dog, and seemed to
know that he could expect no attention just then; he therefore contented
himself with a variety of hind-legged pirouettes, and a little
half-suppressed yelping, knowing that his turn would surely come in
time.

Meanwhile an incident occurred which seemed further to enhance the
dramatic character of the meeting.  There burst suddenly and without
warning upon the amazed and horrified multitude a miniature
thunder-clap, which, being absolutely new to their experience, shook
them to their spinal marrow.  Several boys of unusually inquisitive
disposition, taking advantage of the pre-occupation of the tribe,
ventured to poke about the sledge which had just arrived, and discovered
the fire-spouter of the Indian.  With awe-stricken countenances they
proceeded to examine it.  Of course, when they came to the trigger it
went off.  So did the boys--excepting the one who had touched the
trigger.  He, having the butt against his chest at the moment, received
a lesson which he never forgot, and was laid flat on his back--as much
with fright as violence.  Fortunately there was nothing in front of the
gun at the time save the tip of a dog's tail.  Into this one lead-drop
entered.  It was enough!  The owner of the tail sprang into space,
howling.  Every one else, including dogs and bairns, with the exception
of Mrs Mangivik--who, being as it were petrified with consternation,
remained absolutely immovable--fled for shelter behind the igloes,
leaving Nazinred, Adolay, Cheenbuk and Anteek in possession of the
field.

By degrees their fears were calmed, and according to their courage the
rest of the population returned to the scene of the explosion, some half
ashamed of having run away, others more than half ready to run again.

"Do they sometimes do like that by themselves?" asked Cheenbuk,
referring to the gun.

"Never," said the Indian.  "Some one must have touched it."

"The boys," remarked Anteek; "I know them!"

Adolay laughed.  "Yes," she said, "I know them too, and they meddle with
everything."

"Come, man-of-the-woods," said Cheenbuk, "and see my father's igloe.  He
is hiding inside of it since the spouter made its noise.  This is my
sister, Nootka, and that," he added, pointing to Mrs Mangivik, who was
gradually becoming untransfixed, "is my mother."

"Have you told my father all, Cheenbuk?" asked Adolay as they went
towards the hut.

The Indian stopped abruptly and looked with a piercing glance at the
Eskimo.

"Cheenbuk!" he exclaimed, in a low voice.

"Yes, that is my name," said the young man, with a smile, and yet with a
something in his face which implied that he was not ashamed to own it.

For a moment the Indian frowned as if he were displeased, at the same
time drawing his daughter close to him.  The prejudices of race were at
work within him then, and that very human weakness which shows itself in
esteeming all nations inferior to one's own strove with his better
feelings; but as he looked on the handsome face and brave bearing of the
young man-of-the-ice, and remembered his sentiments and sympathy, he
suddenly stepped up to him and held out his hand.

"The white trader has taught me," he said, "that the difference in men
is only skin-deep.  The same Manitou made us all.  Cheenbuk, my son, I
am grateful to you for your care of my child."

"My father," said the Eskimo, returning his grasp, "your mind is in a
good state.  So is mine!  You must be tired and hungry.  Let us go and
feed."



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

TELLS OF HUNTING EXTRAORDINARY.

This advent of a male Fire-spouter into the little community was a
source of much interest and delight to old and young--all the more that
he had brought the mysterious spouter with him.

Not less interesting to Nazinred was the community in the midst of which
he found himself, for, as we have more than once indicated, our Indian
was intellectually far in advance of his fellows, and the opportunity he
now had of observing closely the life of the men-of-the-ice in all its
details could not be otherwise than full of interest to an inquiring and
large-minded man.

On the day, or rather the night, of his arrival he was allowed quietly
to eat his supper in the igloe of Mangivik, and go to sleep in peace,
but next morning there was a crowding of relatives and friends into the
hut, which rendered the meal of breakfast not quite so pleasant as it
might have been, for the Indian, having been accustomed all his life to
the comparatively open wigwam, did not relish the stifling atmosphere of
the densely crowded snow-hut.  However, he belonged to a race of Stoics,
and, restraining his feelings, ate his meal with moderate appetite and
becoming gravity.

There is reason to believe that he rather liked the earnest attention
with which all his movements were closely and openly scrutinised; at all
events he proceeded with his meal as calmly as if he had been alone, and
in his own wigwam with none but the faithful Isquay and amiable Adolay
to observe him.

Staring, as we have already said, is not considered rude among the
Eskimos; they therefore sat open-mouthed and eyed, taking mental notes
in silence, till breakfast was over, when Nazinred, according to custom,
opened his fire-bag, took out his pipe, and began to fill it.

This created a sensation which was expressed by hard breathing and
eloquent looks.  They had been waiting for this.  Of course Cheenbuk had
often descanted to them on the subject of smoking, besides showing them
how the thing was done, but now they were going to see the amazing thing
done, in the right way, by the real Simon Pure--a live Fire-spouter!

"My father," said Cheenbuk at this point, "the igloe is hot, and there
are many more who wish to see you do that thing.  Will you come
outside?"

With a condescending smile the Indian rose.

It was somewhat destructive of his dignity that he was obliged to go
down on hands and knees, and creep out through the short snow tunnel,
but as there was no other mode of egress he had to submit, and did it
with the best grace possible, making up for the brief humiliation by
raising himself when outside with ineffable dignity, and throwing his
deerskin robe over one shoulder _a la_ Roman toga.

He was greeted with something like a British cheer by the entire
community of men, women, children, and even dogs, who were waiting
outside for him.

Sitting down on a snow-clad rock he went through the process of filling
the pipe, striking a light and beginning to smoke, to the unutterable
delight of the natives.  This delight became not only utterable but
obstreperous when Cheenbuk gravely took out the pipe which Adolay had
given him and began to keep him company, at the same time bestowing a
look--a wink not yet being known to him--on Anteek, who forthwith went
off into uncontrollable laughter and was promptly hustled out of the
crowd.

The interest aroused by the pipe, however, was as nothing compared with
that bestowed on the fire-spouter.  For there was a mystery, noise, and
deadliness about the latter which tended to evoke feelings of awe rather
than amusement.

"I don't like to trouble your father too much, Adolay," whispered
Cheenbuk; "would you say to him that we wish very much to see him use
the spouter?"

Nazinred was an amiable man.  He at once consented, and went back to the
hut for his gun, which, remembering the tendency of the boys to meddle,
he had kept close beside him all night.

Loading it inside, he re-appeared with it ready.  Taking up a lump of
ice about the size of one's hand, he set it up on a hummock, and retired
to a distance of about thirty yards.

"Tell them all to keep back, out of the way of that, Cheenbuk," said
Nazinred.

The excitement and nervous expectation of the Eskimos had been worked up
considerably by these preparations, so that they not only retired to a
safe distance, but some of them even took refuge behind the igloes, and
all held their breath while their guest took aim.

He had loaded with shot, and when the explosion took place the piece of
ice vanished, having been blown to atoms.  Of course a yell of
admiration greeted the result, and all the dogs of the tribe fled on the
wings--or paws--of terror, while Attim sat quietly looking on with
somewhat of his master's dignity.

But the curiosity of the Eskimos was only whetted by this.  They
immediately began to clamour for explanations, so that the Indian found
himself at last obliged to undertake a lecture on gunnery, as far as he
understood it.

"My father," said Cheenbuk, whose respect for the Indian was rapidly
deepening, "some of my people want to know if you can kill bears with
the spouter."

"Yes, it will kill bears.  I killed a white one not long before you
found me."

"And will it kill the walrus too?"

"Yes; it will kill the walrus.  It kills anything that has life."

There was an expression of great astonishment at this.  Some even
ventured to doubt it.  Then there was a noisy consultation for a few
minutes, after which Cheenbuk was told to ask if their guest would go
with them then and there to hunt for a walrus.

"Oh yes;" the Indian was quite ready to go, whereupon the men scattered
to harness the dogs and make preparation for an immediate hunt.

"Go and get my sledge ready," said Cheenbuk to Anteek.

The boy was only too glad to obey, for the mission implied that he
should have a place on the sledge along with the Fire-spouter.

In a very short time several sledges were ready.  Nazinred seated
himself on one.  Cheenbuk and the others jumped in, the whips cracked,
and away they went amid the shouting of the drivers and the yells of
children and women left behind.

It did not take long to find one of those giants of the frozen seas.
Some miles out on the ice they came to a place which the walruses had
kept open as a breathing-hole.  At the time of their arrival it had not
been disturbed for some hours, for the water was covered by a coat of
young ice, which was quite able to bear the weight of the men singly,
though scarcely sufficiently strong for the sledges.

Just as they arrived a walrus took it into its very thick head to crash
up through the young ice and have a gambol.  The party retired behind a
hummock and prepared for action.

"Will the man-of-the-woods go first and try the spouter?" asked
Cheenbuk.

"No," replied Nazinred; "the man-of-the-woods prefers to watch how the
men-of-the-ice do their work.  After that he will use the spouter, which
_we_ call _pasgissegan_.  The white traders call it _gun_."

Harpoons and lances were at once got ready.

"Come, Anteek, with me; bring a harpoon and a coil with you.  We will
show the man-of-the-woods what we can do."

He said this with a look of self-confidence, for Cheenbuk, being a noted
hunter among his fellows, was naturally rather proud of his powers.

Waiting until the walrus dived, the Eskimo and his companion ran towards
the hole of open water, and then suddenly lay down, for they knew the
habits of the brute, and that he would soon reappear.  This, in fact,
happened before they had lain more than a few minutes.  After another
gambol the ungainly animal dived again.  Up got the two Eskimos and ran
at full speed to the very edge of the hole.  On rising the third time
the walrus found Cheenbuk standing with the harpoon raised.  One look of
huge astonishment it gave at the man, who instantly drove the harpoon
deep into its side, and then ran from the hole as fast as he could,
uncoiling the long line of hide until he was some distance off.  Then he
struck a piece of bone, sharp-pointed, into the ice, and put the loop at
the end of the line over it.  This checked the dive of the walrus, which
in furious rage came up and smashed another hole in the ice, looking
fiercely around as if in search of its persecutor.  Anteek's opportunity
had now come.  He ran towards the creature, which, so far from being
afraid, smashed up the ice in vain attempts to get upon it.  Another
harpoon was deftly driven into it, and the boy, running back, fixed his
line as the man had done.

These two now began to "play" the walrus, easing off and tightening
their lines as required.

Meanwhile the other Eskimos ran forward, and, taking advantage of the
creature's combative disposition, fixed several more harpoons in it,
besides giving it many severe thrusts with their lances.  But the hide
of a walrus is nearly an inch thick, and it was not easy to pierce it
with an effective thrust.  At last, however, they succeeded in killing
it after a battle of over three hours.

"That is hard work," observed Nazinred to Cheenbuk, as they stood
watching the cutting up and packing of their prize on the sledges, "and
takes a long time."

"Come, now, let my father show us what the--the pass--pass-gi--spouter--
gun can do," said Cheenbuk, pointing to his sledge, which Anteek had got
ready.  "There are more walruses yonder."

He pointed to another hole, not far off, where several were seen rolling
about in the water.  The Indian stepped on the sledge, the others
followed, and in a short time the whole party was concealed behind a
hummock close to the hole.

Nazinred now loaded his gun with ball.

"You must first throw a harpoon for fear it should sink," he said, when
ready to start.

Without a word Cheenbuk grasped his harpoon and coil and ran forward,
for the walrus had dived at that moment.  Anteek followed, and Nazinred
kept close to both.  Once they lay down to let the animal come up and
dive again.  The moment it did so they ran at full speed as before to
the edge of the hole and waited.

"Send it deep in," muttered the Indian.

"I will," replied the Eskimo.

"So will I," thought the boy, but he was too modest to say so.

The thought had barely passed when the walrus came up with a puff and
snort that might have been heard a mile off.  Cheenbuk's weapon was
successfully launched in a moment.  So was that of Anteek, though he
missed the animal's side, but hit in the neck.  Nazinred took quick but
sure aim at one of its glaring eyes, and before the smoke of the shot
had cleared away the walrus fell over dead with a bullet in its brain.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A BEAR-HUNT AND A SAD END.

The Indian chief was after this an object of almost veneration to the
Eskimo men, of admiration to the women, and of delight to the boys and
girls, who highly appreciated his kindly disposition as well as his
skill with the spouter.

He was taken out on all their hunting expeditions, and fully initiated
into all the mysteries of seals, walrus, deer, and musk-ox killing.  Of
course the wonderful gun was brought into frequent requisition, but its
owner was obliged to have regard to his powder and shot, and had to
explain that without these the spouter would refuse to spout, and all
its powers would vanish.  When this was thoroughly understood, his hosts
ceased to persecute him with regard to displays of his skill.

One day, in the dead of the long winter, Cheenbuk proposed to Nazinred
to go on a hunt after bears.  The latter declined, on the ground that he
had already arranged to go with Mangivik to watch at a seal-hole.
Cheenbuk therefore resolved to take Anteek with him instead.  Gartok was
present when the expedition was projected, and offered to accompany it.

"I fear you are not yet strong enough," said Cheenbuk, whose objection,
however, was delivered in pleasant tones,--for a change for the better
had been gradually taking place in Gartok since the date of his wound,
and his old opponent not only felt nothing of his ancient enmity towards
him, but experienced a growing sensation of pity,--for the once
fire-eating Eskimo did not seem to recover health after the injury he
had received from the Fire-spouter's bullet.

"I am not yet stout enough to fight the bears," he said with a half-sad
look, "but I am stout enough to look on, and perhaps the sight of it
might stir up my blood and make me feel stronger."

Old Mangivik, who was sitting close by, heaved a deep sigh at this
point.  Doubtless the poor man was thinking of his own strength in other
days--days of vigour which had departed for ever--at least in this life;
yet the old man's hopes in regard to the life to come were pretty
strong, though not well defined.

"Well, you may come," said Cheenbuk, as he rose and went out with Anteek
to harness the dogs.

In less than half an hour they were careering over the ice in the
direction of a bay in the land where fresh bear-tracks had been seen the
day before.

The bay was a deep one, extending four or five miles up into the
interior of the island.

We have assumed that the land in question was an island because of its
being in the neighbourhood of a large cluster of islands which varied
very considerably in size; but there is no certainty as to this, for the
region was then, and still is, very imperfectly known.  Indeed, it is
still a matter of dispute among geographers, we believe, whether
continents or seas lie between that part of the coast of America and the
North Pole.

As far as appearance went the land might have been the edge of a vast
continent, for the valley up which the Eskimos were driving extended
inwards and upwards until it was lost in a region where eternal glaciers
mingled with the clouds, or reared their grey ridges against the dark
winter sky.  It was a scene of cold, wild magnificence and desolation,
which might have produced awe in the hearts of civilised men, though of
course it must have seemed commonplace and tame enough to natives who
had never seen anything much softer or less imposing.

The party had travelled about four miles up the valley, and reached a
steep part, which was trying to the mettle of the dogs, when a track was
observed a short distance to their right.

"Bear," said Gartok in a low voice, pointing towards it.

Cheenbuk made no reply, but at once ran the team under the shelter of a
neighbouring cliff and pulled up.  The dogs were only too glad to obey
the order to halt, and immediately lay down, panting, with their tongues
out.

Fastening the sledge to a rock, and leaving it in charge of a little boy
who had been brought for the purpose, the other three set off to examine
the track and reconnoitre; intending, if they had reason to believe the
bear was near, to return for the dogs and attack it in force.

The track was found to be quite fresh.  It led upwards in the direction
of a neighbouring ridge, and towards this the party hastened.  On
reaching the summit they bent low and advanced after the manner of men
who expected to see something on the other side.  Then they dropped on
hands and knees, and crawled cautiously, craning their necks every now
and then to see what lay beyond.

Now, the little boy who had been left in charge of the sledge happened
to be a presumptuous little boy.  He was not a bad boy, by any means.
He did not refuse to obey father, or mother, or anybody else that
claimed a right to command, and he was not sly or double-tongued, but he
was afflicted with that very evil quality, presumption: he thought that
he knew how to manage things better than anybody else, and, if not
actually ordered to let things remain as they were, he was apt to go in
for experimental changes on his own account.

When, therefore, he was left in charge of the dogs, with no particular
direction to do or to refrain from doing anything, he found himself in
the condition of being dissatisfied with the position in which the team
was fastened, and at once resolved to change it only a few yards farther
to the right, near to a sheltering cliff.

With this end in view he untied the cord that held the sledge, and made
the usual request, in an authoritative voice, that the team would move
on.  The team began to obey, but, on feeling themselves free, and the
sledge light, they proceeded to the left instead of the right, and,
despite the agonising remonstrances of the little boy, began to trot.
Then, appreciating doubtless the Eskimo version of "Home, sweet Home,"
they suddenly went off down-hill at full gallop.

The presumptuous one, puckering his face, was about to vent his dismay
in a lamentable yell, when it suddenly occurred to him that he might
thereby disturb the hunters and earn a severe flogging.  He therefore
restrained himself, and sat down to indulge in silent sorrow.

Meanwhile the explorers topped the ridge, and, peeping over, saw a large
white bear not more than a hundred yards off, sitting on its haunches,
engaged, apparently, in contemplation of the scenery.

At this critical moment they heard a noise behind them, and, glancing
back, beheld their dogs careering homeward, with the empty sledge
swinging wildly in the rear.  Cheenbuk looked at Gartok, and then both
looked at the bear.  Apparently the ridge prevented the distant sound
from reaching it, for it did not move.

"We must go at it alone--without dogs," said Gartok, grasping his spear,
while a flash of the old fire gleamed in his eyes.

"You must not try," said Cheenbuk; "the drive here has already tired you
out.  Anteek will do it with me.  This is not the first time that we
have hunted together."

The boy said nothing, but regarded his friend with a look of gratified
pride, while he grasped his spear more firmly.

"Good," returned Gartok, in a resigned tone; "I will stand by to help if
there is need."

Nothing more was said, but Cheenbuk looked at Anteek and gave the brief
order--

"Go!"

The boy knew well what to do.  Grasping his spear, he ran out alone
towards the bear and flourished it aloft.  Turning with apparent
surprise, the animal showed no sign of fear at the challenge of such an
insignificant foe.  It faced him, however, and seemed to await his
onset.  The boy moved towards the right side of the bear.  At the same
time Cheenbuk ran forward towards its left side, while Gartok went
straight towards it at a slow walk, by way of further distracting its
attention.

As the three hunters approached from different directions, their prey
seemed a good deal disconcerted, and looked from one to the other as if
undecided how to act.  When they came close up the indecision became
more pronounced, and it rose on its hind-legs ready to defend itself.
Gartok now halted when within five or six yards of the animal, which was
anxiously turning its head from side to side, while the other two ran
close up.

The plan was that usually followed by Eskimos in similar circumstances.
Anteek's duty was to run forward and prick the bear on its right side,
so as to draw its undivided attention on himself, thereby leaving its
left side unguarded for the deadly thrust of Cheenbuk.  Of course this
is never attempted by men who are not quite sure of their courage and
powers.  But Cheenbuk and Anteek knew each other well.  The latter was
not, perhaps, quite strong enough to give the death-dealing thrust, but
he had plenty of courage, and knew well how to administer the deceptive
poke.

As for Gartok, besides being incapable of any great exertion, he would
not on any account have robbed the boy of the honour of doing his work
without help.  He merely stood there as a spectator.

With active spring Anteek went close in and delivered his thrust.

The bear uttered a savage roar and at once turned on him.  Just at the
moment the boy's foot slipped and he fell close to the animal's feet.
In the same instant the two men sprang forward.  Cheenbuk's spear
entered the bear's heart, and that of Gartok struck its breast.  But the
thrust of the latter was feeble.  In his excitement and weakness Gartok
fell, and the dying bear fell upon him.  His action, however, saved
Anteek, who rolled out of the way just as his preserver fell.

Cheenbuk and Anteek did not hesitate, but, regardless of the few
death-struggles that followed, rushed in, and grasping its thick hair
dragged the monster off the fallen man.

Gartok was insensible, and it was a considerable time before he fully
recovered consciousness.  Then it was found that he could not rise, and
that the slightest motion gave him intolerable pain.

"He will die!" exclaimed Anteek, with a look of painful anxiety.

"Yes, he will die if we do not quickly get him home," said Cheenbuk.
"He cannot walk, and he would freeze long before we could make an igloe.
I must depend on you now, Anteek.  Go back as fast as you can run, and
send men with a sledge and skins and something to eat.  The boy will
remain with me.  Away!"

Without a word Anteek leaped up, and, dropping his spear, ran as if his
own life depended on his speed.  The little boy, who had acted so
foolishly, came up with an anxious look on being hailed, but soon forgot
himself in his anxiety to be of use to the injured man.

There was a mound of snow within three yards of the spot where the
combat had taken place.  To the lee side of this Cheenbuk carried
Gartok.  Being very strong, he was able to lift him tenderly, as if he
had been a child, but, despite all his care, the poor man suffered
terribly when moved.

It was well that this mound happened to be so close, for a dark cloud
which had been overspreading the sky for some time began to send down
snow-flakes, and frequent gusts of wind gave indications of an
approaching storm.  Having placed Gartok in such a position that he was
quite sheltered from the wind, Cheenbuk took off his upper seal-skin
coat, laid it on the snow, and lifted the injured man on to it.  He then
wrapped it round him and folded the hood under his head for a pillow,
bidding the boy bank up the snow beside him in such a way as to increase
the shelter.  While thus engaged he saw with some anxiety that Gartok
had become deadly pale, and his compressed lips gave the impression that
he was suffering much.

"Come here," said Cheenbuk to the boy quickly; "rub his hands and make
them warm."

The boy obeyed with alacrity, while the other, hastening his movements,
began to skin the bear.  Being an expert with the knife in such an
operation, he was not long of removing the thick-skinned hairy covering
from the carcass, and in this, while it was still warm, he wrapped his
comrade--not a moment too soon, for, despite the boy's zealous efforts,
the intense cold had taken such hold of the poor man that he was almost
unconscious.  The warmth of the bearskin, however, restored him a
little, and Cheenbuk, sitting down beside him, took his head upon his
lap, and tried to shelter him from the storm, which had burst forth and
was raging furiously by that time--fine snow filling the atmosphere,
while the wind drove it in huge volumes up the valley.

Cheenbuk noted this, and congratulated himself on the fact the wind
would favour the progress of the rescue sledge.

Sometimes the whirling snow became so suffocating that the little boy
was compelled to cease his labours on the sheltering wall and crouch
close to it, while Cheenbuk buried his nose and mouth in the white fur
of the bear until the violence of the blasts abated.  By keeping the
skin well over the face of the wounded man, he succeeded in guarding him
from them effectually.  But his mind misgave him when he tried to look
through the whirling confusion around, and thought of the long tramp
that Anteek would have ere he could commence his return journey with the
sledge.

It turned out, however, that this was one of those short-lived squalls,
not uncommon in the Arctic regions, which burst forthwith unwonted fury,
sweep madly over the plains of the frozen seas, rush up into the valleys
of the land, and then suddenly stop, as though they felt that all this
energy was being spent in vain.  In a short time, which however seemed
interminable to the watchers on the hillside, the wind began to abate
and the wild gusts were less frequent.  Then it calmed down; finally it
ceased altogether; and the storm-cloud, passing away to the south-east,
left the dark sky studded with the myriad constellations of the starry
host.

Uncovering Gartok's face to see how it fared with him, and hoping that
he slept, Cheenbuk found that he was wide awake, but in a condition that
made him more anxious than ever.  He looked up at the face of his
protector with a faint but grateful smile.

"I have always been your enemy," he said, in a low voice, "but you have
been my friend."

"That does not matter now," replied Cheenbuk.  "I have never been _your_
enemy.  We will be friends from this time on."

Gartok closed his eyes for a few seconds, but did not speak.  Then he
looked up again earnestly.

"No," he said, with more of decision in his tone; "we shall neither be
friends nor enemies.  I am going to the country where all is dark; from
which no sound has ever come back; where there is nothing."

"Our people do not talk in this way.  They think that we shall all meet
again in the spirit-land, to hunt the seal, the walrus, and the bear,"
returned Cheenbuk.

"Our people talk foolishness.  They _think_, but they do not _know_,"
rejoined this Hyperborean agnostic, as positively and as ignorantly as
if he had been a scientific Briton.

"How do you know that there is `_nothing_' in the place where you are
going?" asked Cheenbuk, simply.

Gartok was silent.  Probably his logical faculty told him that his own
thinking, and coming to a conclusion without knowing, was as foolish in
himself as in his comrades.

The subject of conversation happened to be very congenial to Cheenbuk's
cast of mind.  He remained thinking and gazing upwards for a minute or
two, then he said meditatively, as if he were trying to work out some
mental problem--

"Did you ever make a sledge, or a spear, and then destroy it utterly
while it was yet good and new?"

"Never.  I have been bad, it may be, but I am not a fool."

"Is the great Maker of all a fool?  He has made _you_, and if He lets
you die now, utterly, He destroys you in your best days.  Is it not more
likely that He is calling you to some other land where there is work for
you to do?"

"I don't understand.  I do not know," replied Gartok, somewhat doggedly.

"But you do understand, and you do know, that He would be foolish to
kill you now, _unless_ He had some work and some pleasure for you in the
unknown land from which no sound ever comes back.  When a father gives
his son a work to do, he does not destroy his son when the work is done.
He gives him another piece of work; perhaps sends him on a long journey
to another place.  When the Maker of all sees that we have finished our
work here, I ask again, is it not likely that He will send us to work
elsewhere, or is it more likely that He will utterly destroy us--and so
prove Himself to be more foolish than we are?"

"I do not know," repeated Gartok, "but I do know that if the Maker of
all is good, as I have heard say, then I have not done _His_ work here--
for you know, everybody knows, I have been bad!"

Cheenbuk was much perplexed, for he knew not "how to minister to a mind
diseased."

"I have often wondered," he said at last, "why it is that some things
are wrong and some right.  The Maker of all, being good and
all-powerful, could have made things as He pleased--all right, nothing
wrong.  Perhaps men, like children, will understand things better when
they are older--when they have reached the land from which no sound
comes back.  But I am not much troubled.  The Maker of all must be
all-good and all-wise.  If He were not, He could not be the Maker of
all.  I can _trust_ Him.  He will throw light into our minds when the
time comes.  He has already thrown some light, for do we not know right
from wrong?"

"True, but although I have known right I have always done wrong,"
returned Gartok moodily.  "I am sorry now.  If you had not been kind to
me, your enemy, Cheenbuk, I should never have been sorry.  Ever since I
was hurt by the Fire-spouters you have been kind to me, and now you
would save my life if you could.  But it is too late.  You have known
right, and done it."

"You mistake," rejoined Cheenbuk gravely.  "Like you, I have known right
but I have not always done it; only sometimes.  It is not long since I
began to think, and it is since I have been thinking that my spirit
seems to have changed, so that I now hate wrong, and desire right.  I
think that the Maker of all must have caused the change, as He makes the
ice-mountains melt, for it is not possible that I could change myself.
I had no wish to change till I felt the change."

"I wish," said Gartok earnestly, "that--if He exists at all--He would
change me."

At that moment Cheenbuk, who was gazing up into the brilliant sky,
seemed to be moved by a sudden inspiration, for he gave utterance to the
first audible prayer that had ever passed his lips.

"Maker of all," he said, "give to Gartok the spirit that loves right and
hates wrong."

The dying Eskimo raised his eyes to Cheenbuk's face in astonishment;
then he turned them to the starry host, as if he almost expected an
immediate answer.

"Do you think He hears us?" he asked in a faint voice, for the strength
of his feelings and the effort at conversation had exhausted him
greatly.

"I will trust Him," answered Cheenbuk.

"I will trust Him," repeated Gartok.

For some time they sat in profound silence, and Gartok closed his eyes
as if he were falling asleep.  The silence was broken by a distant
sound.  It was the approach of Anteek with the sledge.  He had found the
runaway dogs anchored fast between two masses of ice where the sledge
had got jammed.  Turning the team round he plied his whip with vigour,
insomuch that they would have arrived much sooner if the storm had not
caused delay.

Having arranged the sledge and its wraps so as to form a comfortable
couch for the wounded man, they lifted him on to it, but when they
removed the bearskin from his face it was found that he was beyond
earthly care: he had passed over to the land from which no sound has
ever come back.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE TRADERS AT WORK.

Wherever half a dozen average men are banded together and condemned to
make the best of each other's society for a prolonged period, there is
apt to be a stagnation of ideas as well as of aspirations, which tends
more or less to develop the physical, and to stunt the spiritual, part
of our nature.

So thought MacSweenie as he sat one fine spring morning on a rude chair
of his own making in front of the outpost on Great Bear Lake which he
had helped to build.

The Scottish Highlander possessed a comparatively intellectual type of
mind.  We cannot tell precisely the reach of his soul, but it was
certainly "above buttons."  The chopping of the firewood, the providing
of food, the state of the weather, the prospects of the advancing
spring, and the retrospect of the long dreary winter that was just
vanishing from the scene, were not sufficient to appease his
intellectual appetite.  They sufficed, indeed, for his square, solid,
easy-going, matter-of-fact interpreter, Donald Mowat; and for his chief
fisherman, guide, and bowman, Bartong, as well as for his other men, but
they failed to satisfy himself, and he longed with a great longing for
some congenial soul with whom he might hold sweet converse on something
a little higher than "buttons."

Besides being thus unfortunate in the matter of companionship, our
Highlander was not well off as to literature.  He had, indeed, his
Bible, and, being a man of serious mind, he found it a great resource in
what was really neither more nor less than banishment from the world;
but as for light literature, his entire library consisted of a volume of
the voyages of Sir John Franklin, a few very old numbers of _Chambers's
Edinburgh Journal_, and one part of that pioneer of cheap literature,
_The Penny Magazine_.  But poor MacSweenie was not satisfied to merely
imbibe knowledge; he wished also to discuss it; to philosophise and to
ring the changes on it.

He occasionally tried his hand on Mowat, who was undoubtedly the most
advanced of his staff intellectually, but the results were not
encouraging.  Donald was good-natured, amiable, ready to listen and to
accord unquestioning belief, but, not having at that time risen above
"buttons," he was scarcely more able to discuss than an average
lamp-post.

Occupying the position of a sort of foreman, or confidential clerk, the
interpreter had frequent occasion to consult his superior on the details
of the establishment and trade.

"I'm thinking, sir," said he, approaching his master on the spring
morning in question, "that we may as well give the boat an overhaul, for
if this weather lasts the open water will soon be upon us."

"You are right, Tonal'," answered the trader, knocking the ashes out of
his pipe, and proceeding to refill it.  "That iss just what wass in my
own mind, for we must be thinkin' about makin' preparations for our trip
to the Ukon Ruver.  We will hev to start whenever my successor arrives
here.  Man, it will be a goot job when we are off, for I am seek--tired
of this place.  Wan hes nothin' in the world to think about but his
stamik, an' that iss not intellectooal, whatever."

"Are we to use the inch or the inch-an'-a-half nails?" asked Mowat,
after a moment's pause.

"Whichever you like, Tonal'.  There iss plenty of both in the store, an'
ye are as goot a judge o' these metters as I am myself.  Just help
yoursel', man; only see that the work is done well, for there iss a
rough trup before us when we do git away.  An' the load will be heavy
moreover, for there will be a deal of stuff needed if we are to build an
outpost fit to spend a winter in.  Man, it iss pleasant to think that we
will break up new ground--open up a new country among savitches that
scarce knows what like a white man iss.  We will feel quite like what we
felt as boys when we was readin' Robinson Crusoe."

"We will need two pit-saws," remarked the practical Orkney-man in a
meditative tone.

"No doubt, no doubt," returned MacSweenie, "and a grindstone too.  Do
you remember what that man Nazinred said when he came here on his last
trup,--that the Indians about his country would be fery pleased to see
traders settle among them?  He little thought--an' no more did I--that
we would be so soon sent to carry out their wishes; but our Governor is
an active-minded man, an' ye never know what he'll be at next.  He's a
man of enterprise and action, that won't let the gress grow under his
feet--no, nor under the feet of anybody that he hes to do wi'.  I am
well pleased, whatever, that he hes ordered me on this service.  An' no
doubt ye are also well pleased to go, Tonal'.  It will keep your mind
from gettin' rusty."

"I am not ill-pleased," returned the interpreter gravely.--"I'm thinkin'
there won't be enough o' pitch to go over all the seams o' the boat.  I
was--"

"Hoot, man! never mind the putch, Tonal'.  What there iss will do fery
well, an' the boat that comes with supplies for the new post will be
sure to hev plenty.  By the way, I wonder if that fine man Nazinred will
hev come back when we get to the Ukon River.  It wass a strange notion
of his the last comers told us about, to go off to seek his daughter all
by himself.  I hev my doubts if he'll ever come back.  Poor man! it wass
naitural too that he should make a desperate attempt to get back his
only bairn, but it wass not naitural that a wise man like him should go
off all his lone.  I'm afraid he wass a little off his head.  Did they
tell you what supplies he wass supposed to have taken?"

"Yes.  The wife said he had a strong sled with him, an' the best team o'
dogs in the camp.--Do you think the boat will need a new false keel?  I
was lookin' at it, an' it seemed to me rather far gone for a long trup."

"I will go an' hev a look at it, Tonal'.  But I hev been wonderin' that
Mozwa, who seemed so fond o' his frund, should hev let him start away
all by his lone on such a trup."

"He couldn't help lettin' him," said Mowat, "for he didn't know he was
goin' till he was gone."

"You did not tell me that," said the trader sharply.

"Well, perhaps I did not," returned the interpreter, with an amiable
smile.  "It is not easy to remember all that an Indian says, an' a good
deal of it is not worth rememberin'.--Would you like me to set-to an'
clean up the store to-day, or let the men go on cuttin' firewood?"

"Let them do whatever you think best, Tonal'," replied MacSweenie, with
a sigh, as he rose and re-entered his house, where he busied himself by
planning and making elaborate designs for the new "fort," or outpost,
which he had been instructed to establish on the Ukon River.  Afterwards
he solaced himself with another pipe and another dip into the well-worn
pages of the _Penny Magazine_.

Not long after the conversation just narrated, the boat arrived with the
gentleman appointed to relieve MacSweenie of his charge on Great Bear
Lake, and with the supplies for the contemplated new post.

Action is not usually allowed to halt in those wild regions.  A few days
sufficed to make over the charge, pack up the necessary goods, and
arrange the lading of the expedition boat; and, soon after, MacSweenie
with Donald Mowat as steersman, Bartong as guide and bowman, and eight
men--some Orkney-men, some half-breeds--were rowing swiftly towards the
Arctic shore.

Passing over the voyage in silence, we raise the curtain again on a warm
day in summer, when animal life in the wild nor'-west is very lively,
especially that portion of the life which resides in mosquitoes,
sand-flies, and such-like tormentors of man and beast.

"We should arrive at the Ukon to-morrow, if my calculations are right--
or nixt day, whatever," said MacSweenie to his interpreter and
steersman, as he sat smoking his pipe beside him.

"Bartong is of the same opeenion," returned Mowat, "so between you we
should come right.  But Bartong is not quite sure about it himself, I
think.  At least he won't say much."

"In that respect the guide shows himself to be a wise man," returned
MacSweenie sententiously.  "It iss only geese that blab out all they
think to everybody that asks them questions."

"Ay, that is true," rejoined Mowat, with a cynical smile, "an' some
geese manage, by sayin' nothin' at all to anybody, and lookin' like
owls, to pass themselves off as wise men--for a time."

Bartong, who was being thus freely discussed in the stern of the boat,
sat in his place at the bow-oar, pulling a steady stroke and casting
serious looks right and left at the banks of the river as they went
along.  He was a dark fine-looking stalwart man, of what may be called
mixed nationality, for the blood of Scotchmen, French Canadians, and
Indians flowed in his veins--that of Indians predominating, if one were
to judge from appearance.  He was what is called in the parlance of the
nor'-west a "good" man--that is to say he was mentally and physically
well adapted for the work he had to do, and the scenes in the midst of
which his lot had been cast.  He pulled a good oar; he laboured hard;
could do almost any kind of work; and spoke English, French, and Indian
almost equally well.  He also had a natural talent for finding his way
almost anywhere in the wilderness.  Hence he had been sent as guide to
the expedition, though he had never been at the Ukon River in his life.
But he had been to other parts of the Arctic shore, and had heard by
report of the character and position of the river in question.

"It iss gettin' late, Bartong; don't you think it would be as well to
camp here?" asked MacSweenie.

The bowman ceased rowing, and the crew followed his example, while he
glanced inquiringly up at the sky and round his limited horizon, as
guides and seamen are wont to do when asked for an opinion as to
professional movements.

"There will yet be daylight for an hour, and there is a small lake ahead
of us.  If we cross it, we come to a place where one of the Indians said
he would meet us if we came to his country."

"That is true, Tonal'," said the leader, turning quickly to his
steersman, "I had almost forgot that, it wass so long ago since we met
them.  Both Nazinred and Mozwa said something about meetin' us, if we
came to settle, though I paid little attention at the time.  But are ye
sure, Bartong, that this is the lake?"

"I know not.  It is not unlikely.  If it is the lake, it is small, and
we will soon come to the end of it.  If it is not the lake, an' turns
out to be big, we can camp on the shore.  The night will be fine."

"Go ahead then, boys," cried the leader, "we will try."

The oars were dipped at once, and the men pulled with a will, encouraged
by the conversation, which seemed to indicate the approaching end of
their voyage.

The lake over the bosom of which they were soon sweeping proved to be a
small one, as they had hoped, but whether it was the one referred to by
the Indians remained to be seen.  A sharp look-out was kept for the
smoke of wigwams, but nothing of the kind was seen on either side, and
the end of the lake was finally reached without any sign of the presence
of natives being observed.

"No doubt Mozwa has forgotten, or it may be that he iss away to seek for
his frund Nazinred among the Eskimos.  No metter.  We will camp here,
whatever, for the night.  I think on the other side o' that point will
be a goot campin' ground."

He pointed in the direction indicated, and there was just daylight
enough left to enable Mowat to steer into a narrow creek.

There is something calming, if not almost solemnising, in the quietude
with which a boat glides ashore, on a dark night, under the overhanging
trees of a wilderness lake.  The oars are necessarily stopped, and the
voices hushed, while the bowman, standing erect, with a long pole in
hand, tries to penetrate the thick mysterious darkness that seems to be
the very gate of Erebus.  Bartong stood ready to thrust the head of the
boat off any rocks that might suddenly appear in their course, or give
the order to "back all" should the water become too shallow.  But no
obstacles presented themselves, and the boat forged slowly ahead until
it lay alongside a ledge of rock or natural jetty.  Then the spell was
broken as the men leaped ashore and began to unload the things that were
required for the night's bivouac.

Still, the voices were moderated, for it is not easy to shake off the
tranquillising effect of such a scene at such an hour, and it was not
till the camp-fire was lighted, and the kettles were on, and the pipes
going full blast, that the cheering effect of light chased the
depressing influence of darkness away.

Then, indeed, MacSweenie, dropping the _role_ of leader, assumed that of
_bon camarade_; and Mowat, descending from the dignity of steersman,
enlarged upon his experiences in other days; and Bartong, still
retaining his dignity however, relaxed his anxious frown and listened
with an air of intelligent appreciation that charmed every speaker, and
induced the belief that he could cap every anecdote and story if he only
chose to open his mouth; while the men divided their sympathies between
the narratives, the tobacco-pipes, and the music of the frying-pan and
bubbling kettle.

Then, too, the darkness into which they had penetrated fled away,--not
indeed entirely, but forsaking the bright spot thus created in the
wilderness, it encircled the camp as with a wall of ebony.

It was not long, however, ere appetites were appeased, and the voyagers
sought repose; for men who have to work hard all day at a healthy
occupation are not addicted to late hours--at least not in the
wildernesses of the nor'-west.  Ere long every man was rolled in his
blanket, stretched out with his feet to the fire and his head on his
coat, while the blaze sank low, until at last the red embers alone
remained to render darkness visible.

Among the last to seek repose were the leader of the expedition, the
interpreter, and the bowman.  Having the cares of state on their
shoulders, these three naturally drew together for a little consultation
after the others had retired.

"What iss your opeenion, Bartong?" asked MacSweenie, pushing down the
tobacco in his pipe with the end of a very blunt and much charred
forefinger; "do you think the savitches will come here at all?"

"Maybe they will, and maybe they won't," answered the guide, with a
caution worthy of the Scottish portion of his blood.  "We niver know
what Injins is goin' to do till they do it."

"Umph!" ejaculated the Highlander; "if Solomon had been your grandfather
you could scarcely hev made a wiser speech.--What think you, Tonal'?"

"Weel, as ye put it to me, I must say that I'm strongly of Bartong's
opeenion."

"Just so," remarked MacSweenie, with a thoughtful air; "so, as I agree
wi' you both, I think it iss about time for us all to turn in."

He turned in accordingly, by lying back in his place and drawing his
blanket over him.

The other statesmen immediately followed his example, and the camp
subsided into silence.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE OUTPOST, AND EFFECT OF A "FUDDLE."

Soon afterwards the expedition of the fur-traders reached the Ukon
River, a comparatively insignificant stream, but, from its character and
position with reference to the Indians of that region, well suited for
the establishment of an outpost.  At least so thought the natives who
had reported upon it.

"There iss no doubt," remarked MacSweenie, as he surveyed the banks of
the river, "that the place is no' that bad, but in my opeenion the
summer will be short, whatever, an' the winter it will be long."

"Ye may be sure that you are not far wrong if it's like the rest o' this
country," replied Mowat.

"There now, look at that," cried MacSweenie, who was a sketcher, and an
enthusiast in regard to scenery; "did ever you see a prettier spot than
that, Tonal'?  Just the place for a fort--a wee burn dancin' doon the
hull, wi' a bit fa' to turn a grindstone, an' a long piece o' flat land
for the houses, an' what a grand composeetion for a pictur',--wi' trees,
gress, water, sky, an' such light and shade!  Man, it's magneeficent!"

"I'm thinkin' that it'll be a bad job if that keg o' screw-nails we
forgot at our last camp is lost--"

"Hoot, man, never mind the screw-nails.  We can easy send back for it.
But, wow! there's a far grander place we're comin' in sight of--an'--iss
that an Indian tent I see?"

"Ay, an' there's more than wan tent," said Mowat, giving his steering
oar a sweep that sent the boat farther out into the stream, and enabled
them better to see what lay beyond the bend of the river in front of
them.

"Hold on, lads; stop pullin'!"

The men lay on their oars and turned round to look ahead.  The view
presented there was indeed a pleasant and inspiring one, though it was
scarcely entitled to the appellation "magneeficent," which MacSweenie
applied to it.

The river at that place made a wide sweep on the right, round a low
cliff which was crowned with luxuriant foliage.  The stream opened out
into something like a miniature lake, and the water was so calm that the
cliff and its foliage made a clear dark reflection.  The left bank was
edged by a wide grass plateau some fifty yards wide, beyond which was a
background of bushes and trees, with another "wee burn," which doubtless
suggested to MacSweenie the useful as well as the picturesque.  The
distance was closed by ground varied in form as well as in character,
indicating that a stream of considerable size joined the Ukon at that
point.

But that which interested the beholders most of all was a number of
Indian wigwams, which were pitched on the grassy plateau above referred
to.

"Yonder are our frunds, I make no doubt," said MacSweenie in high glee.
"That man Mozwa iss as goot as his word; an' I do believe they have
chosen the spot an' been waitin' for us.  Gif way, boys; an', Tonal',
make for that landin'-slup--it must either be a naitural wan, or the
Redskins hev made it for us."

By that time the natives, having observed the boat, had launched several
of their canoes.  The first man who came alongside was Mozwa himself.

"What cheer? what cheer, Mozwa?" cried the trader as he reached over the
side and shook the Indian heartily by the hand.

"Watchee! watchee!" repeated Mozwa, returning the shake with equal
good-will, though undisturbed solemnity.

The trader's surmise proved to be correct.  Mindful of the prospect
which had been held out to him and Nazinred, that an expedition might
possibly be sent to establish an outpost and open up the fur trade in
their immediate neighbourhood on the Ukon River, Mozwa had made more
than one trip to the contemplated scene of operations, after the
disappearance of his friend Nazinred, with the view of making himself
well acquainted with the land, and ascertaining the best site for the
new fort.  He did not of course suppose that the pale-faces would be
guided entirely by his opinion, but he thought it not unlikely that they
might weigh that opinion, and, if acted on at once, much time might be
saved during the very brief summer season they had in which to place
themselves comfortably in winter quarters before the hard weather should
set in.

"You are a wise man, Mozwa," said MacSweenie, when the Indian had
explained his views to him in the united smoke of their pipes and the
camp-fire.  "Your notion of a place for a fort iss not a bad one, an'
efter I hev had a look round I hev no doubt that I will agree wi' you
that this is the very best site in the neighbourhood.  Tell him that,
Tonal', an' say that I am fery much obleeged to him for all the
forethought and trouble he hes taken."

Whether Donald translated all this as it was delivered we know not.
From the peculiar cast of his mind, however, coupled with the moderate
depth of his knowledge of the Indian tongue, it is probable that his
translation was neither literal nor comprehensive.  Indeed, it is not
unlikely that his subsequent remark to one of his comrades,--"we told
Mozwa it was very good of him to come to meet us, an' the place would do
well enough,"--was more like the sentence to which he had reduced it.
But whatever he said Mozwa seemed to be quite pleased with it.

"By the way, Tonal', ask him about his friend Nazinred."

The serious way in which the Indian shook his head showed that he had no
good news to tell.  In a short time he had related all that was known
about the sudden departure of his friend.

While Mozwa was thus engaged with the leader of the expedition, their
guide Bartong was wandering among the wigwams and making himself
agreeable to the natives, who, because of his mixed blood and linguistic
powers, regarded him as a half-brother.

"Who is this man Nazinred that our leader is always talking about?" he
asked of the old chief while seated in his tent.

"He is one of our chiefs, one of our boldest braves--"

"But not so brave as he looks," interrupted Magadar, who was present;
"he is fonder of peace than of fighting."

"Foolish man!" exclaimed Bartong, with a smile so peculiar that Magadar
did not feel quite sure that his remark was sincere.  "But has he not
left your tribe?  I heard our steersman say something about that."

"He left us in the winter to seek for his daughter, who was carried off
by an Eskimo and has never come back since.  We don't expect to see
either of them again."

Magadar said this with a grave countenance, for, however little he cared
for the loss of the father, that of the daughter distressed him a
little--not much, however; for could he not console himself with another
wife?

Having questioned the old chief a little more on this point, he wandered
off into other subjects, and finally left--intending to visit the wife
of Nazinred on his way back to camp.

Isquay was sitting beside her niece Idazoo, embroidering a moccasin,
when Bartong entered, squatted on a deerskin unceremoniously, and began
to fill his pipe.

"What kind of a man is your husband?" asked the guide.

"A good man," replied Isquay, who was tender-hearted, and could not
speak of him without moist eyes.  "He was a good hunter.  None of the
young men could equal him.  And he was kind.  He always had plenty of
things to give me and Adolay."

"They say he did not love war," remarked Bartong.

"No; he hated it: but he was brave, and a good fighter--the best in the
tribe.  None of the young men dared to touch him."

"Was the young brave Alizay afraid to touch him?" asked the guide, with
a sly glance at the younger woman.

At this Idazoo flushed and looked up angrily.

"No," she said sharply; "Alizay fears nothing."

Bartong took no notice of the remark, but continued gravely to question
the other.

"Was Nazinred very fond of his daughter?" he asked.

"Yes, very."

"And was the girl fond of him and of you?"

"Yes," replied the poor woman, beginning to weep gently.

"And she seems to have been very fond of this Eskimo, who, they tell me,
saved your life once."

"She was, but I did not think she would go away with him.  It was not
like her--she was always so good and biddable, and told me everything."

"Why did your husband go off alone?"

"I cannot tell.  I suppose he knew that none of the young men would go
with him, or feared they might lose heart and turn back.  No doubt he
thought it best to go by himself, for he was very brave; nothing would
turn _him_ back!"

A fresh though silent dropping of tears occurred here, and a severe pang
of remorse shot through the heart of Idazoo as she thought of her unkind
report of what had taken place beside the dead tree under the cliff.

"Don't cry, Isquay; Nazinred will come back, you may be sure of that,"
said the guide, in a confident tone, "and he will bring your little girl
along with him, for when a man is good and brave he _never_ fails!"

The brevity of summer near the shores of the Arctic Sea rendered it
advisable that no time should be wasted in looking about too
particularly for a site for the new trading-post; and as MacSweenie was
well pleased with Mozwa's selection he at once adopted it and set to
work.

Deeming it important to open the campaign by putting a good taste in the
mouths of his friends the Indians, he began by distributing a few
gratuities to them--some  beads to the women, and a few lines,
fish-hooks, and tobacco to the men.  Then he marked out a site for the
future dwelling-house and store, got out the tools and set to work to
fell, saw, and shape suitable timber for the buildings.  He constituted
Magadar chief hunter to the establishment, supplied him with a new gun,
powder and ball, and sent him off to the woods as proud as, and
doubtless much happier than, a king.  Mozwa he kept by him, as a
counsellor to whom he could appeal in all matters regarding the region
and the people, as well as an overseer of those among his countrymen who
were hired to render assistance.  Alizay was sent off in a canoe--much
to the satisfaction of Mowat--for that forgotten keg of screw-nails
which had lain so heavy on his mind, and the old chief was supplied with
unlimited tobacco, and allowed to wander about at will, under the
agreeable impression that he was superintendent-general of the works.
Isquay, Idazoo, and some of the other women were furnished with
moose-deer skins and needles, and employed to make moccasins for the
men, as well as to do all the needful repairs to garments.

Thus the plateau on the banks of the Ukon River presented, during the
weeks that followed, a scene of lively bustle and unfamiliar noise to
the furred and feathered inhabitants of those vast solitudes, and formed
to the Red men a new and memorable era in their monotonous existence.

At last there came a day when the roof of the principal dwelling was
completely covered, the doors were fixed up, and the glazed windows
fitted in.

"Now, Tonal'," remarked MacSweenie, on the morning of that auspicious
day, "it iss a house-warming that I will be giving to-night, for the
Indians will be expectin' something o' the sort, so you will be telling
the cook to make the biggest lump o' plum-duff he ever putt his hands
to; an' tell him not to spare the plums.  It iss not every day we will
be givin' thiss goot people a blow-out, an' it iss a matter of great
importance, to my thinking, that first impressions should be good ones.
It iss the duty of a new broom to sweep clean.  If it continues, goot
and well, but if it does not begin that way it iss not likely to come to
it, whatever.  There iss far more than people think in sentiment.  If
you fail to rouse a sentiment of goot-will, or confidence, or whatever
it may be, at a first start-off it iss not easy to rouse it afterwards.
Hev ye not noticed that, Tonal'?"

"I can't say that I have," answered the interpreter, with a
matter-of-fact frown at the ground, "but I have noticed that the pit-saw
they was usin' yesterday has been allowed to saw into the holdin'-irons
and damaged half o'--"

"Hoots, man! never mind the pit-saw!" exclaimed MacSweenie, with a touch
of asperity.  "All the planks we want are sawn, an' if they were not,
surely we could mend--tut, man, I wonder ye can play the fuddle.  It
always seemed to me that a goot fuddler must be a man of sentiment, but
ye are the exception, Tonal', that proves the rule.  Away wi' you an'
gie my orders to the cook, an' see that you have the fuddle in goot
tune, for we will want it to-night.  An' let him hev plenty of tea, for
if we gain the women we're sure o' the men."

Mowat retired with a smile on his broad benignant face.  He understood
his leader, and was not offended by his plain speaking.  Besides, it was
not easy to make the interpreter take offence.  His spirit was of that
happy nature which hopeth all things and believeth all things.  It
flowed calm and deep like an untroubled river.  Nothing short of a
knock-down blow would have induced Donald Mowat to take offence, but
that would certainly have stirred him, and as he possessed vast physical
strength, and was something awful to behold when roused, and his
comrades were aware of these facts, the serenity of his life was not
often or deeply ruffled.

The cook, who was an enthusiast in his art, did his best, and was
eminently successful.  His plum-duff dumpling was bigger than any gun--
at least of ancient type--could have swallowed, and the plums, as Mowat
afterwards said, did not need to seek for each other.  He made enough of
delightfully greasy cakes to feed an army, and, according to his own
statement, infused "lashin's o' tea."

Before the hour for the feast arrived that night, Mowat got out his
violin and went into one of the rooms of the new house to put it in
order.  The window of the room looked towards the back of the house,
where the forest was seen just beyond the plateau.

Drawing a bench to the window, he sat down and opened the case.  Of
course he found the first string broken, but that did not break his
heart, for he had a good supply of spare strings, and if these should
fail--well, there were plenty of deer-sinews in the land.  It was soon
put to rights, and, leaning his back against the wall, he began to
tickle the strings gently.  Whatever he was at other times, there is no
doubt that the interpreter was full of genuine sentiment the moment he
got the violin under his chin.

Now at that moment three young Dogrib braves chanced to be passing under
the window, which was about seven feet from the ground.  Though equally
young, and no doubt equally brave, as well as equally Dogribbed, those
three youths were not equally matched, for one was tall and thin,
another was short and thick, while the third was middle-sized and fat.
They had been hunting--successfully--for the thick man carried a small
deer on his lusty shoulders.

On hearing the first notes of the instrument the three youths started
into three different attitudes as if of petrified surprise, and remained
so, waiting for more.

They had not to wait long, for, after tickling the fiddle once or twice
to get it in perfect tune, Mowat raised his eyes to the pine-plank
ceiling and glided softly into one of those exquisite Scottish airs by
means of which a first-rate performer on the violin can almost draw the
soul out of a man's body.  We think it was "The Flowers of the Forest."

Whatever it was the three Dogribs were ravished.  They turned their
heads slowly, as if afraid to break the spell, and looked at each other,
showing the whites of their great eyes increasingly, while each raised a
hand with spread fingers as if to keep the others from speaking.  They
had never heard anything approaching to it before.  They had never even
imagined anything like it.  It was an utterly new sensation.  What could
it be?  They had heard of something strange in the musical way from
Nazinred and Mozwa, but with the carelessness of youth they had scarce
listened to the comments of these men.  Now it burst upon their awakened
sense like sounds from some other planet.  Their mouths opened slowly as
well as their eyes, and there was an expression of awe in their faces
which betokened a touch of superstitious fear.

Suddenly Mowat drew his bow across all the strings with a skirl that
might have shamed the bagpipes, and burst into the Reel o' Tullochgorum.

The effect was electrical.  The thick man dropped the deer; the thin man
sloped forward; the fat man sprang into the air, and all three made for
the woods as if all the spirits of evil were after them in full cry.

We need hardly say, after this, that those Dogrib Indians spent an
excited and agreeable evening with the fur-traders.  They appreciated
the dancing, undoubtedly, though very few of them would condescend to
join.  They appreciated the plum-duff and the greasy cakes highly, and
they more than appreciated the tea--especially the women--which
MacSweenie took care to provide hot, strong, and sweet.  But there is no
doubt that the lion of the evening was--the "fuddle."



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A MYSTERIOUS JOURNEY AND A GREAT DISCOVERY.

Putting on the wings of imagination, good reader, let us once more fly
over the snow-fields of the lone Nor'-west and return to the regions of
thick-ribbed ice.  We have to apologise humbly for asking you also to
fly back a little in time, and plunge once more into the dreary winter,
from which, no doubt, you thought you had fairly escaped.

One morning toward the beginning of spring, referred to in last chapter,
while yet the northern seas were covered with their solid garment,
Cheenbuk announced to all whom it might concern that he intended to go
off on a long journey to the eastward--he called it the place where the
Great Light rises--for purposes which he did not see fit publicly to
reveal.

At that time the Great Light to which he referred had begun to show
symptoms of intention to return to the dark regions which it had
forsaken for several months.  The glimmer on the eastern sky had been
increasing perceptibly each day, and at last had reached the point of
producing a somewhat rosy twilight for two or three hours before and
after noon.  King Frost, however, still reigned supreme, and the
dog-sledge as yet was the only mode of travelling among the islands or
on the sea.

"Why go you towards the rising sun?" asked Nazinred when Cheenbuk
invited him to be one of the party.

"Because it is from my countrymen who dwell there that we get the hard
stuff that is so good for our spear-heads, and lances, and arrows.  We
know not where they find the stuff, and they won't tell.  I shall go and
find out for myself, and take back plenty of it to our people."

The "hard stuff" referred to was hoop-iron, which, as well as nails and
a few hatchets, the Eskimos of the eastern parts of the Arctic shores
obtained from whale-ships and passed on to their friends in the more
remote regions of the farther north.

"I can tell you how they get it," said the Indian.  "White traders to
whom our people go with their furs have spoken of such things, and my
ears have been open.  They say that there are white men who come over
the great salt lake from far-off lands in big _big_ canoes.  They come
to catch the great whales, and it is from them that the hard stuff
comes."

For some minutes the Eskimo was silent.  A new idea had entered his head
and he was turning it over.

"Have you ever seen these white men or their _big_ canoes?" asked
Cheenbuk with great interest.

"Never.  The salt lake where they kill the whale is too far from my
people's hunting-grounds.  But the white traders I have visited have
seen them.  Some traders have come from the same far-off lands in big
canoes of the same sort."

"Is it very far from here to the seas to which these whale-killers
come?"

"Very far from the hunting-grounds of the Dogribs, but it may not be far
from here."

"I will go and see," said Cheenbuk, with much decision, and he went off
forthwith to make preparations.  The expedition consisted of one large
sledge with a team of twelve dogs.  Being resolved not to risk failure
by taking too many companions, the Eskimo limited the number to seven,
besides himself--namely, Nazinred, with his fire-spouter; Oolalik, whom
he deemed the strongest and bravest among the young men; Anteek, the
most plucky of the big boys; Aglootook, the medicine-man, whom he took
"for luck;" and Nootka, as being the most vigorous and hardworking among
the women.  She could repair the boots, etcetera, and do what little
cooking might be required.  Cowlik the easy-going was also taken to keep
Nootka company.

It was high noon when the party set out on their mysterious journey, and
a brighter glow than usual was suffusing the eastern sky, while a gleam
of direct sunshine, the first seen that spring, was tipping the peaks of
the higher bergs as if with burnished gold.

It was merely a whim that induced Cheenbuk to throw an air of mystery
over the expedition.  Having no definite idea himself of what he was
going in search of, or how long he should be away, he thought it wisest
to look solemn and keep his thoughts to himself; thereby impressing his
kinsmen with the belief that he was one of the wisest men of the tribe,
which in truth he was.  Being, as we have said elsewhere, a man of
humour and a good-natured fellow, he thought that the presence of the
magician, whom he believed to be an arrant humbug, would add mystery as
well as interest to the expedition.

Aglootook was himself thoroughly convinced on this point, and sought by
every means to induce the leader to disclose his object and plans, but
as Cheenbuk maintained inflexible reticence on this matter, the magician
made a virtue of necessity, shook his head solemnly when spoken to about
it, and gave it to be understood generally that in his and the leader's
minds there were rolling about thoughts and intentions that were far too
deep for utterance.

Cheenbuk would have offered a seat to Adolay, but her father thought it
better to decline for her.  She was therefore left in the camp in care
of old Mangivik and his amiable spouse.

Travelling by dog-sledge among the Eskimos is rapid and exhilarating
when the ice is unbroken.  When the explorers left the village and made
for the far east, the plain of ice before them was level and smooth as
far as the eye could reach.  They therefore went along at a swinging
pace, the team stretching out at full gallop, a crack from the whip
resounding only now and then, when one of the dogs inclined to become
refractory.

The short day soon vanished, and the long night with its galaxy of stars
and shooting aurora still found them gliding swiftly over the white
plain.

At last a line of hummocks and icebergs rose up before them, as if to
bar their further progress, and the dogs reduced their speed to a trot,
until, on reaching the broken ice, they stopped altogether.

"We will camp here," said Cheenbuk, jumping off and stretching himself.
"Make the igloe there," he added, pointing to a convenient spot in the
lee of a small berg.

The whole party went to work, and in a wonderfully short time had
constructed one of their snow bee-hives large enough to contain them
all.

Here they ate a hasty supper and spent several hours in a slumber so
profound and motionless that it seemed as if they were all dead; not a
sigh, not even a snore, broke the stillness of the night.  Next morning
they were up and off long before the first glimmer of dawn proclaimed
the advent of a new day.

Fortunately a passage among the ridges of broken ice was found, through
which the sledge was hauled with comparative ease, and before noon they
had reached the open sea-ice beyond, over which they again set forth at
full swing.

Little food had been brought, for they depended chiefly on their weapons
to supply them, and as seals abounded everywhere, as well as walruses,
they had no lack.

Thus they advanced for several days, sometimes being retarded a little
by broken ice, but for the most part dashing at full speed over smooth
surfaces.

One day they came to a long stretch of land, extending to the right and
left as far as the eye could reach, which seemed to be a check to their
progress, for it was extensively covered with willow bushes.  Cheenbuk
climbed a neighbouring berg with Nazinred to have a look at it.  The
Eskimo looked rather glum, for the idea of land-travelling and
struggling among willows was repugnant to him.

"I don't like the look of this," he said, turning to his companion;
"there seems no end to it."

"Let not my son be cast down," returned the Indian; "men-of-the-woods
understand the nature of land.  This looks like a low flat, running out
from the mainland.  If so, it is not likely to be very wide, and we
shall be sure to find the great salt lake on the other side of it.
Besides, away to the left I see something like a small lake.  If we go
there we may find hard snow on which the dogs can run."

"There is bad fortune here," said Aglootook, endeavouring to look
oracular, as he came up at that moment with Anteek.  "We must go far
away in _that_ direction," he added, pointing to the right, and looking
at his leader with the aspect as well as the wisdom of an owl.

The fact was that from the start the magician had been thirsting for
some opportunity to display his profound sagacity, and in his opinion
the time had arrived, for in other men's extremity he was wont to find
his opportunity.  True, he knew no more than the king of Ashantee which
was the best line to take--right or left,--but much of the power he had
acquired over his fellows was due to his excessive self-sufficiency,
coupled with reckless promptitude in taking action.  If things went well
he got the credit; if wrong--well, he was ingenious in devising
explanations!

"Aglootook is wise," said Cheenbuk, with gravity and a glance at Anteek;
"I will act on his advice, but first I must take just a little run to
the _left_, to find out something that I see there."

Anteek was not naturally rude, but there was a sensation in him at that
moment which induced him to turn his back on the magician and become
absorbed in the contemplation of a neighbouring berg.  When he turned
round again his face was a little flushed.

Nazinred was right.  There was not only a lake at the place which he
pointed out, but a chain of small lakes, over which the dogs scampered
as well as if they had been on the open sea.  That night, however, they
were obliged to encamp among the willows, but next night they reached
the other side of what was evidently a large promontory, and finally
swept out again on the familiar frozen sea.

The day following they arrived at an obstruction which it appeared as if
neither the wisdom of Aglootook, the sagacity of Nazinred, nor the
determination of Cheenbuk could enable them to surmount.

This was a mighty barrier of broken ice, which had probably been
upheaved by the flow of cross currents when the sea was setting fast in
autumn, or the action of conflicting bergs, many of which were imbedded
in the mass, thus giving to it the appearance of a small mountain range
with higher peaks rising above the general elevation.

On beholding it Aglootook recovered some of his self-respect, and, with
a look of wisdom quite inconceivable by those who have not seen it,
expressed his solemn belief that they would have escaped this difficulty
if they had only acted on his advice, and travelled to the _right_.

Cheenbuk admitted that he seemed to have been mistaken, in a tone which
again set Anteek contemplating one of the neighbouring bergs with a
countenance not altogether devoid of colour, and the leader drove the
team towards the least forbidding part of the ridge.

"You will never get across," said Aglootook in a low voice.

"I will try," returned Cheenbuk.

"It is madness," said the magician.

"People have often called me mad," responded Cheenbuk, "so if they were
right I am well fitted to do it."

It was an exceedingly difficult crossing.  In some places the blocks and
masses were heaped together in such confusion that it seemed as if the
attempt to pass were useless, and the magician solaced himself by
frequent undertoned references to the advantage in general of travelling
right instead of left.  But always when things looked most hopeless the
indefatigable Cheenbuk found a passage--often very narrow and crooked,
it is true,--through which they managed to advance, and when the way was
blocked altogether, as it was more than once, Cheenbuk and the Indian
cleared a passage with their axes, while Anteek led the dogs over the
obstruction, and Oolalik guided the sledge over it.  Nootka usually
stood on a convenient ice-mound and admired the proceedings, while
Aglootook, who had no axe, stood beside her and gave invaluable advice,
to which nobody paid the slightest attention.

At last, after many a fall and slip and tremendous slide, they reached
the other side of the ridge, and once again went swiftly and smoothly
over the level plain.

"We shall not find them," remarked Oolalik, becoming despondently
prophetic as he surveyed the wide expanse of frozen sea, with nothing
but bergs and hummocks here and there to break its uniformity.

"We must find them," replied Cheenbuk, with that energy of resolution
which usually assails a man of vigorous physique and strong will when
difficulties accumulate.

"But, my son, if we do not find them it will not matter much, for the
white traders of the woods have plenty of the hard stuff, and all other
things also, and when we return to the Greygoose River at the opening of
the waters, we may take the teeth of the walrus and the skins of the
seal and begin a trade with them.  I have much of their goods in my own
wigwam, and Cheenbuk knows that I can guide him to the home of the
trader on the great fresh lake."

Oolalik glanced at Nootka while the Indian spoke, as if he felt that a
splendid prospect of decorative, ornamental, and other delights was
opening up to her.  Nootka returned the glance as if she felt that a
splendid opportunity of securing such delights for her was opening up to
_him_.

Cheenbuk did not reply, being engaged in the profound abysses of thought
which had been opened up by his red friend's suggestion.

Before he could find words to reply, Nazinred, whose vision was keen and
practised, pointed out something that appeared like a cloud on the
horizon ahead of them, and which he declared to be land.

"I have noticed that the eyes of the man-of-the-woods are sharper than
those of the Eskimo," said Cheenbuk.

The Indian received this compliment with a gaze of calm indifference, as
though he heard it not.

Just then an exclamation from Anteek attracted general attention.  He
pointed to a mound of snow on the ice a short way to the left of the
track which had a peculiar shape.

"Something covered over with snow," said Cheenbuk, turning the dogs in
that direction by the simple but significant expedient of sending his
long whip with a resonant crack to the right of the team.

"It is a man," remarked Nazinred as they drew near.

He was right.  On clearing away the snow they found the dead body of a
man, some portions of whose costume resembled that of a sailor, though
of course none of those who discovered it were aware of that fact.

"Kablunet!" exclaimed Cheenbuk, using the Eskimo term for white man.

How long the poor man had lain there it was not easy to guess, for the
body was frozen stiff, so that decay was impossible, but the fact that
it had not been discovered by bears argued that it could not have lain
long.  Its emaciated appearance and the empty sack slung across the
shoulder showed that death must have been the result of starvation.
There was a short loaded carbine lying beside the body, and in a pouch a
flask of powder with a few bullets.

"I think," said Nazinred, after careful inspection of the remains, "that
this is one of the white men who come over the salt lake in their big
canoes."

"If so," said Cheenbuk, "we will follow his track, and may come to the
big canoe itself; perhaps some of the Kablunets may be yet alive."

The Indian shook his head.

"Men do not start off alone on a journey to nowhere," he replied.  "The
big canoe must have been crushed in the ice, and the men must have
started off together to search for Eskimos.  I think they must all have
died on the way, and this one walked farthest."

"The man-of-the-woods is wise," said Oolalik.  "If we follow the track
we shall soon find out."

"Yes," said Aglootook, putting on his most prophetic air.  "Go on the
track straight as we can go--that is _my_ advice, and we shall be quite
sure to come to _something_."

Cheenbuk acted on the advice.  Having buried the body of the unfortunate
sailor in a snow-grave, and taken possession of the carbine and other
things, they leaped on the sledge again, and continued to advance along
the track, which, though in some places almost obliterated, was easily
followed.  They had not advanced more than a mile when another mound was
discovered, with another seaman below it, whom they buried in the same
way, and close to it a third, whose costume being in some parts a little
finer, they correctly guessed to be a chief.

At last they came in sight of a large mound, and on uncovering it found
a boat with four dead men lying near it.  All seemed to have died of
starvation, and the reason why some of them had forsaken the boat was
obvious, for it was crushed out of shape by ice; the bottom having been
cut completely away, so that all the provisions they had to depend on
had no doubt been lost.

"This is not the big canoe," remarked the Indian, while they examined
it.  "The big one must have been sunk, and they had to try to escape in
the little one."

The party spent a long time in examining the boat, and as there was a
good deal of iron about it which might be useful, they resolved to
re-visit it on the homeward journey.

Setting off again, they now made straight for the land discovered by
Nazinred, which now lay like a dark blue line of hills in the far
distance.  From the abrupt termination of the land at either extremity
of the range it was judged to be a large island.

As the night was clear and the ice level, the party travelled all that
night, and arrived at the island about daybreak the following morning.

The shore was rocky and desolate, with high cliffs behind it, so that
further progress to the eastward was evidently impossible, unless by
passing round the island to the north or south of it.

"I said you would come to _something_," said the magician,
sententiously, as they drew near to the forbidding coast.

"You were right, Aglootook.  Indeed, it would be impossible for you to
be wrong," replied Cheenbuk, with one of those glances at Anteek which
rendered it hard for the boy to preserve his gravity; yet he was
constrained to make the effort, for the magician was very sensitive on
the point, and suspected the boy.

They were by this time running between the headlands of a small bay, and
suddenly came in sight of an object which caused them all to exclaim
with surprise and excitement--for there, under the shelter of a high
cliff, lay a three-masted ship, or, as the Indian termed it, the white
man's big canoe.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

INTERESTING, AMUSING, AND ASTOUNDING DISCOVERIES.

Although close under the cliffs, and apparently on the rocks, the vessel
was by no means a wreck, neither had it the aspect of one.  There were
no broken masts or tattered sails or ropes dangling from the yards.  On
the contrary, the masts were straight and sound; such of the yards as
had not been lowered were squared, and all the ropes were trim and taut.

The deck was covered over with a roof of canvas, and the snow banked up
all round so as to meet the lower edges of it and form a protection from
the wind.  Up one side of this bank of snow a flight of stairs had been
cut, leading to the port gangway, and the prints of many feet were seen
all round the ship converging towards the stairs, the steps of which
were worn as if by much use.

At first the natives approached the vessel with extreme caution, not
being sure of what might be their reception if any man should be on
board, and with a sense of awe at beholding a mysterious object which
had hitherto been utterly beyond the range of their experience, though
not quite unknown to them by report.  By degrees, however, they drew
nearer and nearer, until they reached the bottom of the snow staircase.
Still there was no sound to be heard in the white man's big canoe to
indicate the presence of a human being.

At last Cheenbuk uttered a shout with the view of attracting attention,
but there was no reply.

"Make the fire-spouter speak," he said, looking at his Indian friend.

Nazinred silently obeyed, pointed his gun at the clouds, and fired; then
the whole party awaited the result, listening intently.  They heard much
more than had been expected, for the cliffs embraced several echoes,
which, being thus rudely awakened, sent the shot crashing back with
multiplied violence, to the no little surprise, as well as alarm, of the
hearers.

Still all was silent on board of the ship, and at last, coming to the
conclusion that there was no living soul there at all, the Indian,
having reloaded his gun, began to ascend the staircase, closely followed
by Cheenbuk, Oolalik, Anteek, and Aglootook--which last, being a
cautious man, was careful to bring up the rear.  Nootka and Cowlik
remained on the ice to observe the end of it all--the former anxiously
curious, the latter curiously easy.  For some time these two stood in
silent expectancy.  Then Oolalik appeared at the top of the staircase,
and, looking down with a face in which solemn wonder had reached its
utmost limit of expression, beckoned them to come up.

Nootka obeyed with alacrity; her companion, leisurely.

What the party saw on entering the vessel was well fitted to arouse
wonder in their unsophisticated minds.  Whether it was one of the
numerous discovery ships that have invaded those regions in the present
century, or a whaler which had been driven out of its course by stress
of weather or power of ice, is uncertain, for although some relics of
the expedition ultimately reached the outpost of the fur-traders,
nothing was brought away by the Eskimos which bore name or date or
writing of any kind.  Although ignorant of the meaning as well as the
uses of almost everything they saw, those natives were quite
sufficiently intelligent to guess that the white man's big canoe had
been set fast in the ice the previous autumn, and laid up for the winter
in this place of safety to serve as a big igloe or hut.

Their examination of the ship was at first very slow, for they stepped
about on tiptoe as if afraid of disturbing some of the ghosts of its
former inhabitants.  Then, a speculative gaze had to be turned on each
object for a few moments, followed by an inquiring glance at each other.
The deck and its accompaniments of masts rising through the canvas
roof, and ropes, and blocks, hatches, skylights, companions, etcetera,
afforded them matter for unbounded astonishment; though what they
afterwards discovered below was productive of unutterable amazement.

"Hoi!" exclaimed Cheenbuk, pointing at something with all his ten
fingers expanded.

He had discovered the binnacle, and was gazing for the first time at the
mariner's compass!

"Hi!" cried the responsive Anteek in a wide-eyed condition.

He had discovered the after-companion, which was partially open, and was
gazing solemnly into the depths below.

The unwonted nature of their surroundings developed an unsuspected vein
of curiosity in Cowlik, who pushed the companion-door open, and, seeing
a flight of steps with some degree of light below, she began to descend.
Whether Nootka's surprise at this sudden act of self-assertion, or her
curiosity, was the stronger, it would be hard to say, but she
immediately went after Cowlik.  The men, seeing the way thus indicated,
did not hesitate to follow.

Of course they all held tenaciously by the brass rail, being afraid to
slip on the steep stair, and some of them, slewing round almost
naturally, went down in true sailor fashion, backwards.

Reaching the bottom, the girls, probably by chance, turned to the left
and entered the after-cabin.  The men of the party turned to the right,
and became absorbed in contemplation of the steward's pantry.  It smelt
deliciously, but that was all that remained of its native attractions,
for of food or drink there was nothing left.

They had just made this discovery when a loud laugh and then a wild
scream from the cabin horrified them.  Cheenbuk and Oolalik drew their
knives, Nazinred cocked his gun, Anteek grasped a rolling-pin that lay
handy, and all four sprang to the rescue.

The scream came from Cowlik.  She had suddenly faced a mirror that hung
in the cabin, and beheld a perfect representation of her own fat face.
It was by no means an unknown face, for she had often had an imperfect
view of it in pools and in calm seas, but it quite took her aback when
thus unexpectedly and clearly presented.  The blaze of astonishment that
followed the first glance caused the burst of laughter referred to, and
the display of her wide mouth and white teeth in the changed expression
induced the scream of alarm.  It also made her start backward so quickly
that she sent poor Nootka crashing against the starboard bulkhead.

"Look!" cried the frightened girls, pointing to the mirror.

The three Eskimos sprang forward and received something like an electric
shock on beholding their own faces.

Cheenbuk turned to Nazinred, but that usually grave Indian was indulging
in a patronising smile instead of sharing their surprise.

"I know what it is," he said quietly.  "I have seen it before, in the
stores of the fur-traders, but never so big as that."

Familiarity, it is said, breeds contempt.  After gazing at themselves in
the miraculous mirror for some time, an idea occurred to Anteek.  He
suddenly shot out his tongue, which happened to be a very long one.
Anteek's reflection did the same.  Thereupon Oolalik opened his mouth
wide and laughed.  So did Oolalik's reflection, which had such an effect
upon Cheenbuk that he also burst into a fit of laughter.  The girls,
pressing forward to see what it was, likewise presented grinning faces,
which formed such a contrast to the grave countenance of Nazinred, as he
stood there in all the dignity of superior knowledge, that the whole
party went off into uncontrollable explosions, which fed upon what they
created until the tears were running down the cheeks of the Eskimos, and
the Indian himself was constrained at last to smile benignly.

But mirth gave place to solemnity again, not unmingled with pity, as
they spent hour after hour examining the various parts of the forsaken
ship.  Of course they could go over only a small part of it that day.
When the short day came to a close they went to the shore and encamped
in their usual way--not daring to sleep on board a big canoe, about
which as yet they knew so little.

On shore they found more subjects of interest and perplexity, for here
were several mounds marked by crosses, and a large mound surmounted by a
pole on the top of which were fluttering a few remnants of red cloth.
The shape of the smaller mounds naturally led them to infer that they
were the graves of white men who had died there, but the large mound was
inexplicable until Nazinred recollected having seen a flag hoisted on a
pole at the fort on Great Bear Lake.

"I remember," he said to Cheenbuk, "that the traders used to hoist a
piece of cloth to the top of a pole like this, at times, when something
of importance happened.  Perhaps the chief of the big canoe died and was
buried here, and they hoisted the red cloth over him to mark the place."

"My father may be right," observed the Eskimo; "but why did they put
such a heap of stones above him?"

"Perhaps to keep the bears from getting at him," returned the Indian
thoughtfully, "or, it may be, to show him great respect."

Resting satisfied with these surmises, the two men returned to their
encampment without disturbing the mound, which was, in all probability,
a cairn covering a record of the expedition which had come to such an
untimely end.

Next day, the moment there was enough of light to enable them to resume
the search, the Eskimos hurried on board the ship and began to ransack
every hole and corner, and they found much that caused their eyes to
glitter with the delight of men who have unexpectedly discovered a mine
of gold.  Among other things, they found in a small room which had been
used as a blacksmith's forge, large quantities of hoop, bar, and
rod-iron.  While Cheenbuk and Oolalik were rejoicing over this find,
Anteek rushed in upon them in a state of considerable excitement with
something in his hand.  It was a large watch of the double-cased
"warming-pan" tribe.

"Listen!" exclaimed the boy, holding it up to Cheenbuk's ear, and giving
it a shake; "it speaks."

"What is it?" murmured the Eskimo.

"I don't know, but it does not like shaking, for it only speaks a little
when I shake it.  I tried squeezing, but it does not care for that."

Here again Nazinred's superior knowledge came into play, though to a
limited extent.

"I have seen a thing like that," he said.  "The trader at the great
fresh-water lake had one.  He carried it in a small bag at his waist,
and used often to pull it out and look at it.  He never told me what it
was for, but once he let me hear it speak.  It went on just like this
one--_tik, tik, tik_--but it did not require shaking or squeezing.  I
think it had a tongue like some of our squaws, who never stop speaking.
One day when I went into the trader's house I saw it lying on the thing
with four legs which the white men put their food on when they want to
eat, and it was talking away to itself as fast as ever."

They were still engaged with this mystery when a cry of delight from
Nootka drew them back to the cabin, where they found the girl clothed in
a pilot-cloth coat, immensely too large for her.  She was standing
admiring herself in the mirror--so quickly had her feminine intelligence
applied the thing to its proper use; and, from the energetic but
abortive efforts she made to wriggle round so as to obtain a view of her
back, it might have been supposed that she had been trained to the arts
of civilisation from childhood.

With equal and earnest assiduity Cowlik was engaged in adorning her head
with a black flannel-lined sou'-wester, but she had some trouble with
it, owing to the height of her top-knot of hair.

Ridiculous though the two girls might have looked in our eyes, in those
of their companions they only seemed peculiar and interesting, for the
step between the sublime and ridiculous is altogether relative, in
Eskimo-land as elsewhere.  There was no opportunity, however, to dwell
long in contemplation of any new thing, for the discoveries came thick
and fast.  Cowlik had barely succeeded in pulling the ear-pieces of the
sou'-wester well down, and tying the strings under her fat chin, when a
tremendous clanking was heard, as of some heavy creature approaching the
cabin door.  Cheenbuk dropped forward the point of his spear, and
Nazinred kept his gun handy.  Not that they were actually alarmed, of
course, but they felt that in such unusual circumstances the least they
could do was to be ready for whatever might befall--or turn up.

A moment later and Aglootook stalked into the cabin, his legs encased in
a pair of fishermen's sea-boots, so large that they seemed quite to
diminish his natural proportions.

In all their discoveries, however, they did not find a single scrap of
any kind of food.  It was quite clear that the poor fellows had held by
the ship as long as provisions lasted, in the hope, no doubt, that they
might ultimately succeed in working their way out of the ice, and then,
when inevitable starvation stared them in the face, they had tried to
escape in their boats, but without success--at least in one case, though
how many boats had thus left to undertake the forlorn hope of storming
the strongholds of the polar seas it was impossible to tell.

On the second night, as the Eskimos sat in their igloe at supper talking
over the events of the day, Nazinred asked Cheenbuk what he intended to
do--

"For," said he, "it is not possible to take back with us on one sledge
more than a small part of the many good things that we have found."

"The man-of-the-woods is right," interposed the magician; "he is wise.
One sledge cannot carry much.  I told you that we were sure to find
_something_.  Was I not right?  Have we not found it?  My advice now is
that we go back with as much as we can carry, and return with four or
five sledges--or even more,--and take home all that it is possible to
collect."

"Aglootook is always full of knowledge and wisdom," remarked Cheenbuk,
as he drove his powerful teeth into a tough bear-steak, and struggled
with it for some moments before continuing his remarks; "but--but--ha!
he does not quite see through an iceberg.  I will--(Give me another,
Nootka, with more fat on it),--I will go back, as he wisely advises,
with as much as the sledge will carry, and will return not only with
four or five sledges, but with all the sledges we have got, and all the
dogs, and all the men and women and children--even to the smallest babe
that wears no clothes and lives in its mother's hood, and sucks blubber.
The whole tribe shall come here and live here, and make use of the good
things that have fallen in our way, till the time of open water draws
near.  Then we will drive to the place where we have left our kayaks and
oomiaks, some of us will go to Waruskeek, and some to pay a visit to the
Fire-spouters at Whale River.--Give me another lump, Nootka.  The last
was a little one, and I am hungry."

The grandeur of Cheenbuk's plan, as compared with Aglootook's
suggestion, was so great that the poor magician collapsed.

Anteek looked at him.  Then he covered his young face with his hands and
bent his head forward upon his knees.  It was too early for going to
rest.  The boy might have been sleeping, but there was a slight heaving
of the young shoulders which was not suggestive of repose.

Later on in the evening, while Nazinred was enjoying his pipe, and the
Eskimos were looking on in unspeakable admiration, Cheenbuk remembered
that the last time he quitted the ship he had left his spear behind him.

"I'll go and fetch it," said Anteek, who possessed that amiable and
utterly delightful nature which offers to oblige, or do a service,
without waiting to be asked.  In a few minutes he was out upon the ice
on his errand.  Soon he gained the snow staircase, and, running up, made
his way to the cabin where the spear had been left.

Now it chanced that a polar bear, attracted perhaps by the odour of
cooked food, had wandered near to the ship and observed the young Eskimo
ascend.  Polar bears are not timid.  On the contrary, they are usually
full of courage.  They are also full of curiosity.  The night was clear,
and when that bear saw the youth go up the stair, it immediately went to
the place to inspect it.  Courage and caution are not necessarily
antagonistic.  On arriving at the foot of the stair it paused to paw and
otherwise examine it.  Then it began to ascend slowly, as if doubtful of
consequences.

Now, if it were not for coincidences a great many of the extraordinary
events of this life would never have happened.  For instance--but the
instances are so numerous that it may be well not to begin them.  It
happened that just as the bear began to ascend the snow staircase Anteek
with the spear in his hand began to ascend the companion-ladder.  But
the chief point of the coincidence lay here--that just as the bear
reached the top of the stair the boy reached the very same spot, and
next moment the two stood face to face within four feet of each other.

We will not go into the irrelevant question which was the more
surprised.  Anteek at once uttered a yell, compounded of courage,
despair, ferocity, horror, and other ingredients, which startled into
wild confusion all the echoes of the cliffs.  The bear opened its mouth
as if to reply, and the boy instantly rammed the spear into it.

He could not have done anything worse, except run away, for a bear's
mouth is tough.  Happily, however, the monster was standing in a very
upright position, and the violence of the thrust sent him off his
balance.  He fell backwards down the stair, and came on the ice with an
astounding crash that doubled him up and crushed all the wind out of his
lungs in a bursting roar.

Fortunately his great weight caused the destruction of five or six of
the lower steps, so that when he rose and tried viciously to re-ascend,
he was unable to do so.

Of course the uproar brought the men on shore to the rescue, and while
the bear was making furious attempts to reconstruct the broken
staircase, Nazinred went close up and put a bullet in its brain.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE SHIP RE-VISITED AND RE-EXPLORED.

Cheenbuk's plan was afterwards fully carried out.  On the return of the
party with all their wonderful news and wealth of old iron, the greatest
excitement prevailed in the tribe, and the persons composing the
expedition became heroes and heroines for the time being.  Each member
formed a centre of attraction and a subject of cross-examination to its
own particular relatives and friends.

In the igloe of Aglootook was assembled, perhaps, one of the most
surprised, if not one of the most credulous, of the gatherings--for the
magician had a strong hold on the imagination of the greater number of
his tribe, and a wonderful power of oratory.  His wife in particular
idolised him, which said much for his amiability, and his only sister
worshipped him, which spoke volumes for her gullibility.

"Yes," he exclaimed, gazing round on the circle of his admirers; "I said
from the first that this would be a wonderful trip, and that we would be
sure to find _something_.  And did we not find it?"

(Vigorous assent by look and voice from the audience.)

"And," he continued, with a lowered voice and solemn look, "if Cheenbuk
had not turned to the _left_ when I told him, we never would have found
it."

"But what was it like?" asked an elderly man with a squat-nose, whose
mind was not quite clear, although he had already listened to an
elaborate description.

"Like?  Ho! it was like--like--"

"Like a big kayak?" remarked some one.

"No, no.  Far, far bigger," said the magician, making an imbecile
attempt to indicate inconceivable size by waving arms and outspread
fingers; "it was--as big--as--as--"

"A whale?" suggested Squat-nose.

"Bigger--Bigger!" said Aglootook, with a lost look in his eyes.  "You
could stuff twenty igloes into it; and there were three great poles
rising out of it as thick as--as _me_, with other poles across them, low
down and high up, and walrus-lines hanging about in all directions, some
as thick as my wrist, others as thin as my finger, and strange igloes
inside of it--not of snow, but of wood--with all kinds of things you
could think of in there; and things that--that--you could _not_ think of
even if you were to try--that nobody ever thought of since the world
began--wonderful!"

This seemed to fairly take away the breath of the audience, for they
could only glare and remain dumb.  For a few moments they breathed hard,
then Squat-nose said in a deep whisper--

"Go on."

Aglootook did go on, and kept going on so long that his audience were
forced to go off and assuage the pangs of hunger which prolonged
abstinence and mental excitement at last rendered unendurable.  But no
sooner was appetite appeased than the magician and his hearers returned
to the subject with redoubled energy.

"Is it very, _very_ far away?" asked Aglootook's wife, with a sigh, when
he explained to her the wonders of the mirror.

"Yes, a long, long way, and some of the ice is very rough for the dogs."

"Not too far for some of us to go and return before the open water?"
Squat-nose ventured to hope.

"Plenty of time," returned Aglootook, with a patronising smile.  "In
fact I advised Cheenbuk to start away back as fast as possible with many
sledges, so that my woman will see it with her own eyes."

"And me too?" exclaimed the sister, bringing her palms together with a
smack.

"And you too.  I advised Cheenbuk to take the whole tribe there to stay
till the time of open water, and he agreed.  Cheenbuk is a wise young
man: he always takes my advice."

The subject of this eulogium was meanwhile giving a graphic and much
more truthful account of the expedition to Adolay, Mangivik, his mother,
and a select circle of friends; yet, although he did his best, like
Aglootook, to convey an adequate impression of what they had seen, we
make bold to say that the utmost power of language in the one, and of
imagination in the other, failed to fill the minds of those
unsophisticated natives with a just conception of the truth.

But they did succeed in filling most of their hearts with an
unconquerable desire to go and see for themselves, so that no difficulty
was experienced in persuading the whole tribe--men, women, children, and
dogs--to consent to a general migration.

Even Anteek held his court that night in the tent of old Uleeta.

Since the death of Gartok Anteek had shown much sympathy with that poor
old woman.  Ill-natured people, (for there are such in Eskimo-land),
said that sympathy with young Uleeta had something to do with his
frequent visits to the tent.  Well, and why not?  The sympathy was not
the less sincere that it was extended to both.

Anyhow, a large circle of juvenile admirers of both sexes assembled
under the snow roof to hear the young lecturer, and we are inclined to
think that his discourse was quite as instructive and interesting as the
narratives of his seniors.  He did not exaggerate anything, for Anteek
was essentially truthful in spirit.  Nothing would induce him to lie or
to give a false impression if he could help it, but the vivid play of
his fancy and the sparkling flow of his young imagination were such that
he kept his audience in a constant ripple of amusement and fever of
anticipation.  He was particularly strong on Aglootook, and whatever
that wily magician gained in the esteem of the adults, he certainly lost
among the juveniles.

So eager were the Eskimos to see the wonderful sights that had been
described to them, that they at once set about preparation for
departure.  On the second day after the return of the exploring party
the entire village, having previously hidden away in a secure place the
things already obtained from the ship, mounted their sledges and
commenced their journey amid much noise and glee in the direction of
what was to them the far east.

It is needless, and would be tedious, to carry the patient reader a
second time over the same ground.  Suffice it to say that when they
reached the spot, and were introduced to the white man's "Big kayak,"
they felt disposed to echo the words of the Queen of Sheba, and exclaim
that half had not been told them--not even although that huge humbug
Aglootook had told them a great deal too much!

New circumstances are apt to engender new conditions in savage as well
as civilised life.  It is scarcely credible what an amount of hitherto
latent vanity was evoked by that mirror in the cabin, and that too in
the most unlikely characters.  Mangivik, for instance, spent much of his
time the first few days in admiring his grey locks in the glass.  And
old Uleeta, although one of the plainest of the tribe, seemed never to
tire of looking at herself.  Squat-nose, also, was prone to stand in
front of that mirror, making hideous faces at himself and laughing
violently; but there is reason to believe that it was not vanity which
influenced him so much as a philosophical desire to ascertain the cause
of his own ugliness!  Aglootook likewise wasted much of his valuable
time before it.

A new sense of shame was by this means developed among these natives, as
well as the power to blush; because after people had been interrupted
frequently in this act of self-admiration, they were laughed at, and the
constant recurrence of this laughter aroused a feeling of indignation,
at the same time a tendency to hop away and pretend interest in other
things!  Squat-nose never did this.  All his actions were open as the
day--of course we mean the _summer_ day,--and he would sometimes invite
an intruder to come and have a look at his reflection, as if it were a
treat.  Hence our opinion of his motive.

Not so the magician.  The very way he stood, and moved about, and
frowned at his double, betrayed his state of mind, while the sensitive
way in which he started off to gaze out at the stern windows or have a
look at the swinging barometer showed his feeling of guilt when caught
in the act.  Anteek soon found this out, and was wont to lie in wait so
as to catch him in the act suddenly and with exasperating frequency.

After the first excitement of arrival was over, the Eskimos built igloes
on the shore and settled down to dismantle the vessel and take
possession of her stores, and of all that could be of use to them.  They
built an elongated oval igloe on the shore as a store to receive the
lighter and, as they esteemed them, more valuable articles.  Among these
were included all the axes, hoop-iron, and other pieces of manageable
metal that could be easily carried.  There were also numbers of tin
cans, iron pots, cups, glass tumblers, earthenware plates, and other
things of the kind, which were esteemed a most valuable possession by
people whose ordinary domestic furniture consisted chiefly of seal-skin
bowls and shallow stone dishes.

During the few days that followed, the whole colony of men, women, and
children were busily occupied in running between the ship and the big
store with loads proportioned to their strength, and with joviality out
of all proportion to their size, for it must be borne in mind that these
children of the ice had discovered not only a mine of inconceivable
wealth, but a mine, so to speak, of inexhaustible and ever recurring
astonishments, which elevated their eyebrows continually to the roots of
their hair, and bade fair to fix them there for ever!

Perplexities were also among the variations of entertainment to which
they were frequently treated.  Sometimes these were more or less cleared
up after the assembled wit and wisdom of the community had frowned and
bitten their nails over them for several hours.  Others were of a nature
which it passed the wit of man--Eskimo man at least--to unravel.  A few
of these, like the watch, had some light thrown on them by Nazinred, who
had either seen something like them in use among the fur-traders, or
whose sagacity led him to make a shrewd occasional guess.

One object, however, defied the brain-power alike of Indian and Eskimo;
and no wonder, for it was a wooden leg, discovered by Anteek in what
must have been the doctor's cabin--or a cabin which had been used for
doctor's stuff and material.  Like letters of the alphabet given in
confusion for the purpose of being formed into words, this leg puzzled
investigators because of their inevitable tendency to lead off on a
wrong scent by assuming that the leg part was the handle of the
instrument, and the part for the reception of the thigh a--a--something
for--for--doing, they couldn't tell what!

Sitting round the stone lamp after supper, some of them passed the
mysterious object from hand to hand, and commented on it freely.  The
leg was quite new, so that there were no marks of any kind about it to
afford a clue to its use.

Probably it had been made by the ship's carpenter for some unfortunate
member of the crew who had come by an accident, and died before he could
avail himself of it.

Suddenly the magician exclaimed--

"I know!  I always knew that I would know, if I only thought hard
enough.  It is a club for fighting with.  When the white men go to war
they always use these things."

Grasping it in both hands, he swung it round his head, and made as
though he would knock Oolalik down with it, causing that young Eskimo to
shrink back in feigned alarm.

"That may be so," said Cheenbuk, with serious gravity.  "I wonder we did
not think of it before."

"But if so," objected Nazinred, who always took things seriously, "what
is the use of the hollow in its head, and for what are these lines and
ties fixed about it?"

"Don't you see?" said Cheenbuk, with increased seriousness, "after
knocking your enemy down with it you pour his blood into the hollow till
it is full, let it freeze, and then tie it up to keep it safe, so that
you can carry it home to let your wife see what you have done."

The usual quiet glance at Anteek had such an effect on that youth that
he would have certainly exploded had he not been struck by an idea which
displaced all tendency to laugh.

"_I_ know," he cried eagerly.  "You're all wrong; it is a _hat_!"

So saying, he seized the leg out of the magician's hand and thrust it on
his head with the toe pointing upwards.

There was a tendency to approve of this solution, and the boy, tying two
of the straps under his chin, sprang up, in the pride of his discovery.
But his pride had a fall, for the leap thrust the leg through the snow
roof of the hut, and the novel head-dress was wrenched off as he
staggered back into Cheenbuk's arms.

Despite this mishap, it was received by most of those present as a
probable explanation of the difficulty, and afterwards Anteek went
proudly about wearing the wooden leg on his head.  The style of cap
proved rather troublesome, however, when he was engaged in his
researches between decks, for more than once, forgetting to stoop low,
he was brought up with an unpleasant jerk.

In a forest, as Nazinred suggested, the high crest might have been
inconvenient, but out on the floes the unencumbered immensity of the
Arctic sky afforded the boy room to swagger to his heart's content.

Another discovery of great interest was the carpenter's cabin.  Unlike
most of the other cabins, the door of this one was locked, and the key
gone, though if it had been there no one would have guessed its use.
Peeping in through a crack, however, Cheenbuk saw so many desirable
things that he made short work of the obstruction by plunging his weight
against it.  The door went down with a crash, and the Eskimo on the top
of it.  The sight that met his gaze amply repaid him, however, for there
were collected in symmetrical array on the walls, saws, chisels,
gimlets, gouges, bradawls, etcetera, while on a shelf lay planes,
mallets, hammers, nails, augers--in short, every variety of boring,
hammering, and cutting implement that can be imagined.

An hour after the discovery of that cabin, there was not a man or boy in
the tribe who was not going about with cut fingers, more or less.
Experience, however, very soon taught them caution.

And here again the superior knowledge of Nazinred came in usefully.
Like most Indians, he was a man of observation.  He had seen the
fur-traders in their workshops, and had noted their tools.  Taking up a
hand-saw he seized a piece of stick, and, although not an expert, sawed
a lump off the end of it in a few seconds.  As this would probably have
cost an Eskimo full half an hour to accomplish with his blunt knives,
they were suitably impressed, and Cheenbuk, seizing the saw, forthwith
attempted to cut off the end of a rod of iron--with what effect it is
scarcely necessary to explain.

In the course of a few days the quantity of material brought on shore
was so great that it was found necessary to begin a second storehouse.
While most of the natives were engaged on this, Cheenbuk and the Indian
continued their researches in the ship, for a vast part of its deep hold
still remained unexplored, owing partly to the slowness of the
investigation in consequence of the frequent bursts of amazement and
admiration, as well as the numerous discussions that ensued--all of
which required time.

While going more minutely into the contents of the cabin, they came,
among other things, on a variety of charts and books.

"Have you ever seen things like these?" asked Cheenbuk in a tone of
veneration, based on the belief that the Indian had seen nearly
everything the world contained.

"Never--except that," he replied, pointing to a log-book; "the traders
use things like that.  They open them and make marks in them."

Cheenbuk immediately opened the book in question and found marks--plenty
of them; but of course could make nothing of them, even after turning
them sideways and upside-down.  As the Indian was equally incapable,
they returned the whole into the locker in which they had found them,
intending to carry them on shore when the new store should be ready for
the reception of goods.

This was unfortunate, in some respects, as the next chapter will show.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

CURIOSITY AND PRESUMPTION FOLLOWED BY CATASTROPHE.

Most of the able-bodied men and a few of the youngsters set off next day
to obtain a supply of walrus, seal, and musk-ox flesh--or anything else
that happened to be procurable.

Mrs Mangivik and other ladies were left to look after the camp and
prepare for the return of the men, strict orders being left that no one
should go on board the ship on any pretext whatever.

But strict orders are not always obeyed.  There was one little boy in
that community--not a bad boy, but a precocious and very ambitious boy--
who chanced not to hear the orders given.  Whether he was partially
deaf, or purposely did not hear the orders, we cannot say.  This little
boy's chief weakness was a desire to mimic.  Having admired the wooden
leg on Anteek's head, and having observed where Anteek had stowed the
leg away before setting off with the hunters, he possessed himself of
it, put it on his head, and strutted about the camp to the admiration
and envy of all his compeers; for he was a very daring and domineering
boy, although small.  His name was Doocheek.

Another of Doocheek's weaknesses was a desire to ape the men, and think
himself a man in consequence.  This, coupled with a consuming curiosity
in regard to Nazinred's tobacco-pipe, caused him to observe--for he was
remarkably observant--that the Indian had, for the first time since he
resided among them, gone off on an expedition and left his pipe behind
him--accidentally, no doubt.  Doocheek watched his opportunity and
secured the fire-bag which contained the smoking implements.  Stolen
waters are sweet, even in cold climates where all the waters freeze, and
the boy cast about for a secluded place in which he might enjoy the
sweetness of his pipe to the full without fear of interruption.  A blue
cavern in an iceberg might do, but the atmosphere in such caves was
rather cold.  Under the cliffs there were many sheltered places, but the
juvenile members of the community were playing there, and would
certainly intrude.  Out on the floes was an exposed place--to vision as
well as to wind and drift.  What was left to him, then, but the ship?

Hurrying through the village in order to carry out his plans, the boy
encountered Mrs Mangivik at the entrance to her hut.

"Where are you going, Doocheek?" demanded the woman, with a look of
suspicion born of frequent experience.

With that spirit of ambiguous contradiction which would seem to prevail
among the youth of all nations, Doocheek replied, "Nowhere."

It is interesting to observe how that remarkable answer seems to satisfy
inquirers, in nine cases out of ten, everywhere!  At all events Mrs
Mangivik smiled as if she were satisfied, and re-entered her hut, where
Nootka was engaged in conversation with Adolay, while she taught her how
to make Eskimo boots.

"Did not Cheenbuk forbid every one to go near the big kayak while the
men were away?" demanded the woman.

"Yes he did," answered Nootka, without raising her eyes.--"Now look
here, Ad-dolay.  You turn the toe up this way, and the heel down that
way, and shove your needle in so, and then--"

"I am very sure," interrupted Mrs Mangivik, "that little Doocheek has
gone down there.  There's not another little boy in the tribe but
himself would dare to do it."

"He will lose some of his skin if he does," said Nootka quietly--
referring not to any habit of the Eskimos to flay bad boys alive, but to
their tendency to punish the refractory in a way that was apt to ruffle
the cuticle.

Quite indifferent to all such prospects in store for him, the boy
hurried on until he reached the foot of the snow staircase.  It had been
repaired by that time, and the deck was easily gained.  Descending to a
part of the interior which was rather dark--for the boy was aware that
his deeds were evil--he sat down on a locker and opened his fire-bag.

Eskimos are not quite free from superstition.  Doocheek had plenty of
natural courage, but he was apt to quail before the supernatural.  Apart
from the conscience, which even in Arctic bosoms tends to produce
cowardice, the strange surroundings of the place--the deep shadows,
merging into absolute obscurity, and the feeling of mystery that
attached to everything connected with the vessel--all had the effect of
rendering Doocheek's enjoyment somewhat mixed.  To look at him as he sat
there, glaring nervously on all sides, one would have been tempted to
say that his was what might be called a fearful joy.  If a rat or a
mouse had scurried past him at that moment he would have fled
precipitately, but no rat or mouse moved.  Probably they were all
frozen, and he had the place entirely to himself--too much to himself.
He began at that point to wish that he had brought another little boy,
or even a girl, with him, to keep up his courage and share in his
triumphant wickedness.

However, as nothing happened, his courage began to return, and he
emptied the contents of the bag on the locker.  He knew exactly what to
do, for many a time had he watched the Indian fill his pipe and produce
fire with flint, steel, and tinder.  Beginning with the pipe, he filled
it, and then proceeded to strike a light.  Of course he found this much
more difficult than he had expected.  It seemed so easy in the Indian's
hands--it was so very difficult in his!  After skinning his knuckles,
however, chipping his thumb-nail, and knocking the flint out of his hand
several times, he succeeded in making the right stroke, and a shower of
sparks rewarded his perseverance.

This was charming.  The place was so dark that the sparks seemed as
large and bright as stars, while the darkness that followed was deeper
by contrast.  Forgetting the pipe and tobacco in this new-found joy,
Doocheek kept pelting away at the flint, sending showers of sparks past
his knees, and some of them were so large that they even fell upon the
deck before going out.

But an abrupt stop was put to his amusement.  Whether it was that
something or other in the sides of the ship had given way, or the
energetic action of the boy had shaken some fastening loose, we cannot
say, but just as he was in the act of raising his hand for another
_feu-de-joie_, a shelf over his head gave way, and a perfect avalanche
of pots, pans, and noisy tin articles came down with a hideous crash on
the deck!

To leap from the locker like a bomb-shell, and go straight up the
hatchway like a rocket, was only natural.  Doocheek did that as far as
was compatible with flesh and blood.  He could not remember afterwards
by what process he reached the ice and found himself on the skirts of
the village.  But at that point his self-control returned, and he
sauntered home--flushed, it is true, and a little winded, yet with the
_nonchalant_ air of a man who had just stepped out to "have a look at
the weather."  His conscience was rather troubled, it is true, when he
thought of the fire-bag and the pipe, etcetera, left behind, but nothing
would have induced him to return for these at that time.

Towards evening the walrus-hunters returned.  They had been very
successful.  The sledges were loaded up with the meat of several large
animals, so that there was a prospect of unlimited feasting for more
than a week to come.

"Now, old woman," said Cheenbuk with cheery irreverence to his mother,
and with that good-natured familiarity which is often engendered by good
fortune, "stir up the lamps and get ready the marrow-bones!"

Regardless of lamps and marrow-bones, all the children of the community,
even to the smallest babes, were sucking raw blubber as children in less
favoured lands suck lollipops.

"Had you to go far?" asked Adolay.

"Not far.  We found them all close by, and would have been back sooner,
but some of them fought hard and took up much time," answered Cheenbuk,
who awaited the cooking process; for since he had discovered the Indian
girl's disgust at raw meat, he had become a total abstainer on the
point.

"And," he added, beginning to pull off his boots, "if your father had
not been there with the spouter we should have been out on the floes
fighting still, for some of the walruses were savage, and hard to kill."

After supper, as a matter of course, Nazinred looked round with an air
of benign satisfaction on his fine face.

"Is my fire-bag behind you, Adolay?" he asked in a low voice.

Doocheek was present and heard the question, but of course did not
understand it, as it was put in the Dogrib tongue.  The search, however,
which immediately began induced him to retire promptly and absent
himself from home for the time being.

"It is not here, father."

A more careful search was made, then a most careful one, but no fire-bag
was to be found.

"Perhaps Nootka took it to her sleeping-place to keep it safe,"
suggested old Mangivik.

No; Nootka had seen nothing of it, and Nootka was not a little annoyed
when, in spite of her assertion, a search was made in her boudoir, and
not a little triumphant when the search proved fruitless.

"Surely no one has taken it away," said Cheenbuk, looking round with an
expression that would have sunk Doocheek through the snow into the earth
if he had been there.

"_If_ any one has taken it away," said Aglootook, with a profundity of
meaning in his tone that was meant to paralyse the guilty, and serve as
a permanent caution to the innocent, "_something_ awful will happen.  I
don't say what, but _something_; so it will be as well to confess, for
I'm sure to find it out--if not soon, then in a long time."

For some moments after this there was dead silence, but nobody
confessed, and they all looked at each other as if they expected some
one to go off like a cannon shot through the roof suddenly, and were
somewhat disappointed that no one did.

By degrees they began to breathe more freely, and at last some went out
to seek repose in their own huts, while the inmates of Mangivik's
dwelling began to turn in for the night.  Nootka and Adolay retired to
the boudoir, and the men, drawing bear or seal-skins over them, lay
down, each where he had feasted.

Nazinred alone remained sitting up, the victim of unsatisfied craving.
North American Indians are noted for their power to conceal their
feelings, and Nazinred was not an exception to the rule, for no sign did
he betray of the longing desire for a pipe that consumed him.  Only a
tendency to silence, and a deeper solemnity than usual, seemed to
indicate that all was not as he would wish.

At last he lay down.  About an hour afterwards, finding that he could
not sleep, he arose, cast an envious glance at the peaceful slumberers
around him, crept through the entrance tunnel, and stood erect outside,
with a gaze of subdued inquiry at the starry host overhead.  Bringing
his eyes slowly down to the things of earth, his gaze changed suddenly
into one of wild alarm.

The cause was obvious enough.  When Doocheek fled from the avalanche of
pots and tins, as before mentioned, he failed to observe that one of the
sparks, which had filled him with delight, had remained nestling and
alive in a mass of cotton-waste, or some such rubbish, lying on the
lower deck.  With the tendency of sparks to increase and propagate their
species, this particular one soon had a large and vigorous family of
little sparks around it.  A gentle puff of wind made these little ones
lively, and induced them, after the manner of little ones everywhere, to
scatter on exploring rambles.  Like juveniles, too, their food at first
was simple,--a few more mouthfuls of waste and a bit of rope here and
there; hence their progress was slow and quiet.  But time and increasing
strength soon made them impatient of such light food.  Ere long they
created a draught of their own, and were blown into a flame.  Then some
of them laid hold of some bedding, while others seized upon a bulkhead,
and, gathering courage from success, they finally enveloped the
'tween-decks in a mass of flame.

It was at this point in the business that the eyes of Nazinred beheld a
column of smoke rising from the after-companion hatch which threw his
own smoking powers entirely into the shade, and induced him to utter an
unreasoning war-whoop that roused the Eskimo tribe as if by a shock of
electricity.

The entire population rushed out like one man.  They saw the smoke, with
a lurid flame licking out here and there amid the blackness, and seeing
the Indian flying down the beach as if he were witch-possessed--as
indeed he was--they uttered a united howl, and made off in the same
direction.

Fire brigades, of course, are unknown among the Eskimos, but the way in
which Cheenbuk improvised and organised an Arctic brigade might have
roused the envy even of the London force!

Great men are always with us, though not always recognised.  It requires
specially great occasions to draw them forth, and make them visible even
to themselves.  Many a time in former years had Cheenbuk spilt water on
the cooking-lamp and put it out.  Water at once occurred to his mind in
connection with the tremendous lamp that was now fairly alight.  But
water was at that time locked up seven or eight feet under the solid
ice.  The active mind of the Eskimo naturally reverted to snow ere yet
he had covered the distance between ship and shore.  We say naturally,
because he was quite aware that snow also extinguished lamps.

Cutting a huge block of snow with his bone knife from the beaten plain,
he shouted in a voice of thunder: "Hi! every one.  Look at me!  Do as I
do!"

He shouldered the mass, sprang up the snow stair, and plunged down the
smoking hatchway.

Cheenbuk and Oolalik, who were as quick to obey as to command--perhaps
quicker--followed their leader's example.  Others followed suit
according to their respective natures and capacities.  Anteek, bearing a
mass nearly as big as himself, also dashed below in wild excitement.
Some of the young men tumbled their burdens of snow down the smoking
hole and went back for more.  Even old Mangivik did that as fast as his
rheumatic limbs would let him.  Raventik, reckless as usual, sprang down
with a mighty lump, but finding the atmosphere below uncongenial, hurled
it towards his predecessors, and sprang up again for a fresh supply,
watering at the eyes and choking.  The poor invalid Ondikik walked as
hard as his fast-failing strength would permit.  The women even, led by
the thoroughly roused Cowlik, bore their share in the work.  The
children took prompt advantage of the occasion to enjoy by far the
wildest game that had ever yet been suggested to their imaginations, and
Aglootook the magician, seeing that _something_ had come at last to
verify his predictions, stood by the capstan and appointed himself to
the command of the upper deck brigade, while the others were battling
with the flames below.

The battle was indeed a tough one; for the fire had got a firm hold, not
only of the materials already mentioned, but also of a mass of canvas
and cordage in what must have been the sail-maker's department, and the
smoke was growing so dense that it was becoming difficult for the
firemen to breathe.

"Here!  Nazinred, Oolalik, throw the biggest lumps you can lift over
_there_."

Cheenbuk pointed to what seemed a red-hot spot in the dense smoke before
them, and set them the example by heaving a gigantic mass at the same
place.

A tremendous hiss came forth as the snow was converted into steam, but
there was no abatement in the roar of the devouring element as it licked
up everything around it, making the iron bolts red, and, though not
themselves combustible, assistants to combustion.

"More snow, Anteek! more snow!" gasped Cheenbuk.

The boy, with a mass of half-melted snow still in his hand, sprang up
the ladder, scarce knowing what he did, and appeared on deck, blackened
and wildly dishevelled.  Aglootook was close to the opening at the
moment, giving sententious directions to some little boys.  Anteek
hurled the snow-mass full at his face with the force of an ardent nature
intensified by contempt, and sent him sprawling among the children as he
leaped over the side to carry out his orders.

But no energy on the part of Cheenbuk and his comrades, no efforts on
the part of their assistants, strong or feeble, could avert that ship's
doom.  Ere long the smoke and heat between decks became unbearable, and
drove the gallant leaders back, inch by inch, foot by foot, until they
were compelled to take refuge on the upper deck, when nothing more could
be done to arrest the progress of the flames.  They retired therefore to
the quarter-deck, where the whole of the Eskimos--men, women, and
children--assembled to look on at the destruction which they could not
now prevent.

"This is a great loss," observed Cheenbuk regretfully, as he sat on the
after-rail, mopping the perspiration off his blackened face with his
sleeve.

"It might have been a greater loss," said Nazinred, glancing towards the
well-filled storehouses on shore.

"That is true; but just think of what a supply of wood for spears and
sledges!  It would have been enough to last the lives of our children's
children, if not longer."

"Did I not tell you that _something_ would happen?" said Aglootook,
coming forward at that moment.

"Yes, and something did happen," said old Mangivik, "though I could not
see how it happened, for the smoke.  Did not a lump of snow fly in your
face and knock you over among the children?"

The magician ignored the question altogether, and, turning to Cheenbuk,
asked if he thought there was yet any chance of saving the ship.

"Not unless you manage to send some of your magic down and stop the
fire."

"That is not possible," returned the other, with a wisely grave look.
"I can do much, but I cannot do that."

As he spoke, a fresh roar of the fire up the hatch-way attracted
attention.  Gathering strength, it burst up in a bright flame, showing
that the quarter-deck could not long remain a place of security.

Suddenly Nazinred showed signs of excitement which were very unusual in
him.  Fighting the walrus or bear, or battling with the fire, had never
produced such an expression as crossed his face, while he cast a hasty
glance round on the women and children, whose forms were by that time
lit up by the dull red glow that issued from the column of smoke.

"Cheenbuk," he said in a low voice, "the black stuff that I put in my
spouter is kept by traders in round things--I forget the name.  If there
is one of these round things here, and it catches fire, we shall, every
one of us, with the ship, be sent up to the stars!"

The remark was meant to reach the ear of the leader alone, but several
of those around heard it, and a wild rush was instantly made for the
snow stair, amid feminine and juvenile shrieks.  Aglootook incontinently
hurled himself over the side, and fell on his hands and knees on the
ice, where an opportune snow-drift saved him.  Most of the party ran or
leaped out of the threatened danger.

"Does not my father think that we should go?" asked Cheenbuk, who began
to feel uneasy as a fresh burst of flame set fire to the canvas awning,
and made the place they stood on unpleasantly hot.

"Yes, my son, he does," replied Nazinred; "but it does not become men to
_run_ from danger."

So saying he began to move as if in a funeral procession, closely
followed by Cheenbuk, Oolalik, and old Mangivik.

As they reached the head of the staircase something like an explosion
occurred, for the deck was partially burst up by the heat.  The three
Eskimos, who did not think their dignity affected by haste, leaped down
the stair in two bounds, but Nazinred did not alter his walk in the
least.  Step by step he descended deliberately, and walked in stolid
solemnity to the spot on which the community had assembled as a place of
safety.

They did not speak much after that, for the sight was too thrilling and
too novel to admit of conversation.  Shouts and exclamations alone broke
forth at intervals.

The danger to which they had been exposed while on the quarter-deck
became more apparent when a clear bright flame at length shot upwards,
and, catching some of the ropes, ran along and aloft in all directions.

Hitherto the fire had been much smothered by its own smoke and the want
of air below, but now that it had fairly burst its bonds and got
headway, it showed itself in its true character as a fierce and
insatiable devourer of all that came in its way.

Catching hold of the awning over the deck, it swept fore and aft like a
billow, creating such heat that the spectators were forced to retreat to
a still safer distance.  From the awning it licked round the masts,
climbed them, caught the ropes and flew up them, sweeping out upon the
yards to their extreme ends, so that, in a few minutes, the ship was
ablaze from hold to truck, and stem to stern.

Then the event which Nazinred had referred to occurred.  The flames
reached the powder magazine.  It exploded, and the terrified natives
yelled their feelings, while the entire structure went up into the
heavens with a roar to which the loudest thunder could not compare, and
a sheet of intense light that almost blinded them.

The explosion blew out every fork of flame, great and small, and left an
appalling blackness by contrast, while myriads of red-hot fragments fell
in a shower on the ice, and rebounded from it, like evil spirits dancing
around the tremendous wreck that they had caused.

Fortunately the Eskimos were beyond the range of the fiery shower.  When
they ventured, with awe-stricken looks, to approach the scene of the
catastrophe, only a yawning cavern in the floe remained to tell of the
stately vessel that had thus ended her final voyage.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

A DECLARATION, AN INTERRUPTION, AND A GREAT FIGHT.

The loss which the Eskimos sustained in the destruction of the ship was
in one sense considerable, for the woodwork about her would have been of
immense value to them; nevertheless their gains in what had already been
stored were very great, so that they were able to regard their losses
with philosophic composure.

The weeks that followed--weeks of ever increasing light and warmth--were
spent in examining and sorting their material into packages suitable for
transport on sledges to their summer quarters at Waruskeek.

And here again the knowledge possessed by Nazinred of the habits and
implements of the white men was of great service.  Adolay also helped to
instruct, for when among the sail-maker's tools they found a number of
the finer sort of needles and threads, as well as a few feminine
thimbles, so to speak, she was able to show the women at once how to use
them, and thus saved them from the trouble of puzzling out the matter
for themselves.

"What is this?" asked Anteek of Nazinred one day, presenting a file
which he had just picked up.

"That is a thing," replied the Indian, who, being ignorant of the names
of most tools, got over the difficulty by calling all objects
"things"--"that is a thing made for cutting iron with; rubbing it down
and cutting it short.  It cuts things that are too hard for a knife."

"I think," returned the boy, regarding it attentively, "we might try it
on Aglootook's nose.  That wants cutting short, and rubbing down too,
for it seems very hard to look at it."

Nazinred did not smile.  He was slow to understand a joke.  Perhaps he
thought it a poor one, but Cheenbuk appreciated it, and met it with the
suggestion that an axe might be more effective.

They were gravely debating this point in front of the snow stores, when
Ondikik came up and asked when it was likely that a start would be made
for home, as he styled their old winter village.

"Go and ask Mangivik.  When he gives the order I'm ready," said
Cheenbuk.

"Don't say a word to Aglootook," said Anteek, as the young man turned to
go; "he will be sure to say that _something_ will happen if you do."

"Yes, and as something always does happen," remarked Cheenbuk, "he's
sure to be right, the moosquat."

"Moo-squat" seemed to be used as a term of extreme contempt; it may not
therefore be incorrect to translate it--"humbug!"

On being consulted, old Mangivik, who was generally credited with being
weather-wise and intelligent, gave it as his opinion that, as the things
from the white man's kayak were all ready packed on the sledges, and the
weather was very warm, and the days were growing long, and the ice and
snow were melting fast, the sooner they set out the better.

Aglootook coincided with that opinion, because he had been led to the
same conclusion some days before, chiefly in consequence of profound
thought during the dark hours of night.  "And if we don't start off
now," he added at the end of a portentous oration, "no one can tell what
will happen--something fearful, I know, though of course it is not
possible to say what."

As no one felt disposed to object, the preparations were hurried
forward, and, soon after, the whole tribe went off on the return
journey, leaving behind them a black and yawning gulf in the Arctic
solitude where so lately a noble ship had been.

Arrived at the old village, these lively and energetic nomads occupied
themselves during the brief remainder of winter and the early spring in
securely hiding the goods of which they had become possessed, excepting
such light portions as they meant to carry along with them to their
summer retreat.  Among these were a number of bows, spears, and arrows
made from the wood of the burnt vessel, with cleverly adapted iron
heads, filed to fine sharp points, and burnished until they glittered in
the light.  Of knives and axes there were also sufficient to equip most
of the young men, and those, for whom there were none, made to
themselves pretty good knives out of pieces of hoop-iron.

When at last the ocean currents and summer heat broke up the solid floes
and set the icebergs free to resume their majestic southward course, our
Eskimos put their sledges _en cache_, got out kayaks and oomiaks, and,
wielding both the short and the long paddle, started off towards the
southwest, in the direction of Waruskeek--some of the tribe, however,
with a few of the old people, remaining behind.

"Now, Adolay, we are going to take you home," said Cheenbuk, the day
they started, while walking with her towards the oomiak in which she was
to take her seat and a paddle.  "Will the Indian girl be glad to leave
us?"

The faintest possible tinge of red suffused her cheek, as she dropped
her eyes and replied--

"She will be glad to get home."

"When you have got home, and stayed for a time with your people,"
returned Cheenbuk, who was usually blunt and to-the-point in his
conversation, "will you come away with me and be my woman--my squaw?" he
added, accommodating his words to the Indian vocabulary.

"I cannot leave my mother," answered the maiden in a low voice.

"That is good," returned the gallant Eskimo, "but Cheenbuk can leave
_his_ mother and his father too.  If I go and live with the
men-of-the-woods, will you be my squaw?"

Adolay with downcast eyes gave no answer.

It is said that silence gives consent.  We are ignorant as to Arctic
opinion on this point, but before light could be thrown on the subject,
Anteek came rushing round the corner of a stranded berg with the
exclamation--

"Hoi!  Cheenbuk--here you are!  We thought you must have got into the
teeth of a walrus or the arms of a bear!"

Cheenbuk frowned savagely, caught Anteek by his nether garments and the
nape of his neck, and, lifting him high above his head, seemed about to
dash him on the ground.  But, instead, he replaced him gently on his
feet, and, with a benignant smile, told him to run down to the shore and
put his kayak in the water so as to be ready for him.

Anteek, who was obedience personified, hastened away at once, rubbing
his nether garments, and sorely perplexed as to the strange spirit which
seemed so suddenly to have taken possession of the friend he so ardently
idolised.

It was arranged that Nazinred, being unaccustomed to the Eskimo kayak,
should voyage with the women in one of the oomiaks.  To a younger brave
this might have been regarded as an undignified position, but to a man
of his years and tried experience it was only a subject for a passing
smile.  But the Indian did not accept the position of an idle passenger.
Although inexpert in the use of the two-bladed paddle and the light
kayak, he was thoroughly capable of using the women's paddle with the
single blade, as it bore much resemblance in shape and size to that used
in his native canoe.  He therefore quietly assumed the post of steersman
in the oomiak, which contained Madam Mangivik, Nootka, the easy-going
Cowlik, the gentle Rinka, Adolay, and a variety of children and babies.
The young man Oolalik, in defiance of immemorial custom, also took a
seat and a paddle in that oomiak--out of pure hospitality of course, and
for the sole purpose of keeping their guest company.  Nootka said
nothing, but she seemed amused as well as pleased at the innovation.  So
were the children, for Oolalik was a prime favourite with young as well
as old.

Old Uleeta was the captain of another of the oomiaks, and it was
observed that Aglootook cast longing and frequent glances in her
direction, believing, no doubt, that a place by her side would be an
easier berth than in his own kayak, with nothing but the strength of his
own lazy arm to urge it on; but as there was no guest in this case to
justify the breach of ancient custom on the ground of hospitality, he
felt that manhood required him to stay where he was.

It was a pretty sight the starting of the little flotilla on a brilliant
spring morning, with the sea as calm as a millpond, fantastic masses of
white ice floating about in all directions, and mountainous bergs here
and there giving dignity as well as variety, by their size and
light-green sides and deep blue caverns, to a scene which might
otherwise have been too suggestive of wedding-cake.

Seals, walruses, sea-birds, and numerous denizens of the deep and air,
were sporting about in fearless indifference to the presence of their
great enemy, man, but these were unheeded until hunger began to affect
the Eskimo.  Then the war began, with its usual result--"the survival of
the fittest."

One day, however, there was a battle in which it came about that the
tables were almost turned, and the survival, as regards the animals,
very nearly reversed.

It happened thus.

We have already referred to the ferocity of the walrus when attacked.
As a rule, man is the assailant.  Sometimes, however, the monster of the
Arctic deep assumes the offensive.  On the occasion we are about to
describe the attack was made in force.

The day had been brilliantly fine.  The bergs had absolutely duplicated
and inverted themselves by reflection, so that the sunlit pinnacles
became submarine fires, and refraction stepped in to reverse, and as it
were shatter, the floes on the horizon, while three mock suns glowed in
the heavens at the same time--thus making the beautiful confusion still
more exquisitely confounded.

"Walrus!" said Cheenbuk, pointing with the end of his long paddle in the
direction of a large berg just ahead of them.

Nazinred, who was close alongside of him, ceased to paddle, and shaded
his eyes with his hand.  So did his crew.  The whole flotilla ceased to
paddle, and skimmed slowly along for some moments in dead silence.

Then Aglootook, in virtue of his office and presumption, spoke in a low
voice--

"Let us pull softly, and speak not at all.  There are plenty of beasts.
Wonders shall be done to-day if you attend to what I say."

They all acted on his advice, whether they heard it or not, for Eskimos
need no caution to be wary and silent when approaching a herd of
walruses.

There appeared to be at least a hundred animals lying sunning themselves
on the various ice-lumps into which the floes were broken up.  On one
mass about half a mile off there were some twenty rolling about and
grunting comfortably to each other.  Towards these the flotilla slowly
drifted, for the dipping of the paddles could scarcely be seen, and was
quite noiseless.  By slow degrees they drew near, and then the oomiaks
hung back, with the exception of that steered by Nazinred, who had got
his fire-spouter ready, while Oolalik stood in the bow, harpoon in hand,
and lance ready by his side.  The women were not expected to take part
in the action--only to look on,--but all the men in kayaks advanced.
While these last went on towards the main herd, our Indian steered
straight for the ice-cake on which the largest number lay, and as they
drew near, the extreme ugliness of the creatures' faces and black heads
became very apparent.

There was an old bull with tusks not far short of three feet long among
the herd.  Beside him was a young bull, which seemed from his wicked
expression to be screwing up his courage to assault the old one.  The
rest were females and young ones of various ages, down to what seemed
the very last walrus baby.  Those that were grown up had bristling
moustaches like porcupine-quills on their flat lips, and the young ones
had tusks in different degrees of development--except the baby, whose
head resembled an ill-shaped football.

They did not seem in the least afraid of the approaching oomiak.
Perhaps they thought it a very dirty piece of ice covered with rather
grotesque seals.  At all events, although they looked at it, they went
on with their mooing and rolling about, quite regardless of it, until
Oolalik sent his harpoon deep into the side of one of the cows.  Then
indeed there was tremendous roaring and confusion, as the whole herd
tumbled off the ice raft into the sea.  The splash sent a cataract of
spray over the Eskimos; and no wonder, for the old bull was full sixteen
feet long, with barrel-bulk equal to a hogshead.  Some of the others
were not much smaller.

The harpoon thrown was attached to a short line, to the end of which an
inflated seal-skin was fastened for the purpose of forming a drag on the
animal harpooned, and, by coming to the surface, showing its
whereabouts.  But on this occasion the creatures required no such
contrivance to bring them up, for no sooner were the two bulls in their
native element than they uttered a horrible succession of roars, and
made straight for the oomiak.  A rip in the side of the skin boat would
have been fatal, or, if one of the animals were to hook on to it with
his tusks, an upset would be certain.  Oolalik therefore grasped his
long lance, while Nazinred steered so as to keep the bow end-on to the
assailants.  Another moment and Oolalik dealt the oldest bull a thrust
in the neck that sent it back roaring.  The cry seemed to be a summons,
for answering cries were heard all round, and the walruses were seen to
be converging towards their savage old chief.  Meanwhile the young bull
had reached the right side of the oomiak, where Cowlik sat with an
easy-going look on her placid face, admiring the scene.

Nazinred was so intent on keeping the craft right that he failed to
notice it until its ugly head and ponderous tusks rose above the
gunwale.  But Cowlik proved equal to the occasion.  The easy-going look
vanished, and the end of her paddle went into the throat of the brute
with a thrust so vigorous that the boat was driven to one side and the
tusks missed their mark.  At the same moment Adolay, who sat close to
her, grasped her paddle like a double-handed sword, and brought it down
with surprising force on the creature's left eye.  A shot from the
fire-spouter followed; the ball entered the same eye, reached the brain,
and the young bull sank to rise no more.

The Indian reloaded as fast as he could, but not in time for another
charge from the old bull, which Oolalik met with a stab in the side that
again turned him off bellowing.  A still younger bull, anxious,
perchance, to win its spurs, took advantage of the situation, and made a
dash at the opposite side, but Nootka sent about two feet of her paddle
down its throat, which induced it to reconsider its intentions.

Just then a loud report told that the spouter was again to the front.
This time the ball took effect on the old bull's forehead, and remained
there.  It neither killed nor stunned, though it probably surprised it,
for it sheered off permanently, and all the rest of the herd went away
to sea along with it.

After this unexpected and dangerous encounter was over, it was found
that several other animals were splashing about in a dying state, or
fast to seal-skin buoys which the men in the kayaks had managed to affix
to them.  One of these was closely followed up by Anteek, who had very
cleverly launched his harpoon.

Aglootook was also seen to be struggling with a buoy, which he was
trying to haul in.

"Keep off!" he cried in great excitement when old Mangivik paddled to
his assistance; "I have lanced it twice.  I need no help.  See, the
water is full of blood!"

"That is my beast you are fighting," remarked Oolalik, as the oomiak
came up.  "Look at the float: it is mine."

The magician looked crestfallen.  He had hoped, probably, to kill the
wounded animal, secure it to his kayak, and cast loose the buoy, so that
no one could claim it.  He made the most of the situation, however, by
asserting stoutly that if he had not lanced it well it would certainly
have broken loose from the buoy.

When the whole party was assembled on a large floe, cutting up and
stowing away the meat, some of the younger men began to comment on the
success of the hunt, and to congratulate themselves on the large supply
of fresh provisions which they had secured.

"Did I not tell you," said Aglootook, who appeared to be superintending
the workers, "that wonders would be done to-day?"

"You did," replied Cheenbuk gravely, "and one of the greatest wonders
was that you managed to lance a walrus!"

"It was indeed a great wonder," returned the magician, with a smile of
supreme satisfaction, "for I was not hunting at all at the time--only
looking on by way of encouraging the young men.  It just came in my way
and I killed it, easily, in passing.  If I had been really hunting, then
indeed," he added, with solemn emphasis, "you would have seen something
to astonish you."

"I have no doubt of that!" remarked Cheenbuk.  At the same moment Anteek
went off into an explosion of laughter, which he accounted for by
pointing at a baby-walrus which had just put its head out of the water
with an expression of surprise on its innocent face that clearly
indicated its inability to understand what was going on.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

AN EXPEDITION AND A DISAPPOINTMENT.

A few days later the whole tribe arrived at their summer quarters, and
no civilised family of boys and girls ever arrived at their seaside home
with a more genuine expression of noisy delight than that with which
those Eskimos took possession of the turf-mud-and-stone-built huts of
Waruskeek.

It was not only the children who thus let loose their glee.  The young
men and maidens also began to romp round the old dwellings in the pure
enjoyment of ancient memories and present sunshine, while the elders
expressed their satisfaction by looking on with approving nods and
occasional laughter.  Even old Mangivik so far forgot the dignity of his
advanced age as to extend his right toe, when Anteek was rushing past,
and trip up that volatile youth, causing him to plunge headlong into a
bush which happened to grow handy for his reception.

Nazinred alone maintained his dignity, but so far condescended to
harmonise with the prevailing spirit as to smile now and then.  As for
Adolay, she utterly ignored the traditions of her people, and romped and
laughed with the best of them, to the great delight of Nootka, who
sometimes felt inclined to resent her stately ways.  Cheenbuk adopted an
intermediate course, sometimes playing a practical joke on the young
men, at other times entering into grave converse with his Indian guest.
Aglootook of course stuck to his own _role_.  He stood on a bank of sand
which overlooked the whole, and smiled gracious approval, as though he
were the benignant father of a large family, whom he was charmed to see
in the enjoyment of innocent mirth.

Cheenbuk soon formed his plans for the future, and laid them before the
elders of the tribe the same evening after supper--at that period when
poor Nazinred would have been enjoying his pipe, if that implement had
not been blown with all his tobacco and tinder into the Arctic sky.

It is but just to the Indian to add that he took his heavy loss in a
philosophical spirit, and had by that time quite got over the craving--
insomuch that he began to wonder why he had ever come under the sway of
such a taste.

"Now," said Cheenbuk, with an air of decision, "listen to my plans."

"Hoi! ho!" exclaimed every one, especially Aglootook, who added "hay!"
in a peculiar tone, thus giving him leave, as it were, to talk as much
as he pleased.

"You all know that I have promised to take Adolay back to her own home,
and you know that I never break my promises.  It is therefore my
intention to set off to the Whale River after two suns have gone round
the sky."

"Hoi!" exclaimed some of the young men, with looks of surprise at such
promptitude.

We may observe here that in those regions the sun in summer describes
nearly an unbroken circle in the sky, and that Cheenbuk's reference was
to the next two days.

"I will take with me as many men and women as choose to go, but no
children.  We will take our spears and bows to procure food, but not to
fight, for I go to make friends with the Fire-spouters and the white
traders.  So, if any one wants to fight,"--he looked at Raventik here,
but that fire-eater happened to be absent-minded at the moment, and sat
with downcast eyes,--"_to fight_," he repeated with emphasis, "he will
have to remain at home and fight the walrus--or the women!"

A faint "ho!" here indicated a desire for more.

"Nazinred says he is sure his people will be glad to meet us.  I am sure
we shall be glad to meet his people.  What will happen after that, I
cannot tell."

"_Something_ will certainly happen," murmured Aglootook, as if holding
converse with his own spirit, or with his familiar.  "I know it; I am
sure of it.  I tell you all beforehand."

"And you will accompany us," said Cheenbuk, turning to the magician with
a nod of approval.  "When we go on an errand of peace we need our wisest
men with us, men whose knowledge and experience will make the
Fire-spouters think much of us, and men who don't like fighting."

"Now, then," continued the Eskimo, turning again to the young men, "who
will go?  I shall not allow any to go who are not quite willing."

There was no lack of volunteers.  The party was then and there arranged,
and two days later they set out on their mission, a goodly band, in
kayaks and oomiaks.

The weather continued fine; the days were long; islets for
camping-places were numerous, and in process of time the party reached
the mouth of the Whale--otherwise Greygoose--River, which they began to
ascend.

"Oh!" exclaimed Adolay, with glistening eyes, as she looked from bank to
bank; "I know it so well--almost every bush and tree."

"And you love it?" said Nootka.

"Yes, yes; is it not my own country?"

Nootka sighed.  "I wish I could love my country like you; but your
country sticks.  Mine melts away--most of it--every hot sun-time; and it
is not easy to care much for things that melt."

"But Waruskeek does not melt," said Adolay sympathetically.

"That is true," returned Nootka, as if pleased to think of something
solid, round which her affections might entwine; "but we stay such a
short time there--only while the hot sun-time lasts, and I have not time
to get very fond of it--not so as to make my eyes open and my cheeks
grow red like yours."

"Then you must come and live with me and love _my_ country," said the
Indian girl in a patronising tone.

"What! and forsake Oolalik?" exclaimed the Eskimo maiden, with
heightened colour and flashing eyes.  "No, never.  _He_ will not melt,
what ever else does."

"Right, Nootka," exclaimed Adolay, with a laugh.  "It would take a very
hot sun indeed to melt Oolalik.  But perhaps the whole tribe will stay
in my country.  I think that Cheenbuk will get us over this difficulty.
It is wonderful what can be done by a man with a determined mind like
Cheenbuk."

"Yes, some of us Eskimos have very determined minds," said Nootka,
complacently.

Adolay laughed lightly.  "And don't you think that some of the
Fire-spouters have also a good deal of determination--especially one of
them who left the lodges of his people and wandered over the great salt
lake all alone in search of his child?"

"You speak truth," returned Nootka, with a pleasant nod.  "I'll tell you
what I think: both our nations are very determined--very."

Having come to this satisfactory conclusion, the maidens relapsed into
general conversation.

But a disappointment was in store which none of the party had counted
on.

When the village of the Fire-spouters was reached, not a soul was to be
seen.  The tent-poles remained, and the ashes of the hearths were still
there; but the ashes were cold, and not a man, woman, or child
remained--not even a dog.

Nazinred and Adolay hurried at once along the well-known foot-path which
led to the spot where their own wigwam had stood, but the place was
deserted.  As in the case of all the other lodges, only the bare poles,
according to custom, were left--the coverings having been carried away.

Father and child looked at each other for some time in silent dismay.
It was a terrible homecoming--so different from what each had been
fondly anticipating!

The anxious father had strode on in advance of the Eskimo party, but
Cheenbuk had followed.  He hung back a little from feelings of delicacy
as they neared the old home, and was much moved when he saw
irrepressible tears flowing from the eyes of Adolay.

"Have enemies been in the camp?" he asked, when they had contemplated
the scene for some minutes in silence.

"No; enemies have not been here," answered the Indian.  "There is no
blood on the ground; no sign of a struggle.  The tent-poles are not
thrown down; the ashes of the fires have not been scattered.  This would
not have been so if there had been a fight.  Keep up heart, Adolay!" he
added, turning to the weeping girl; "no evil can have come to our
people, for they have left of their own will for a new camp; but I am
perplexed, for this is the best place in all the Dogrib lands for a
village, and we had lived long here in contentment."

"But if that be so, there must be good reason for their having left,"
suggested Cheenbuk.

"Good reason--yes, the men-of-the-woods never act without good reason."

"My father may be perplexed about reasons," continued the Eskimo, "but
surely he will have no difficulty in finding his people, for are not the
men-of-the-woods good at following up a trail?"

"Truly you say what is true.  It will be easy to find and follow the
trail of a whole tribe," returned Nazinred, with a smile.  "But it is
disappointing to find that they have forsaken the old place, and it may
be many days before we find them."

"Father!" exclaimed Adolay at this point, a bright look overspreading
her features, "mother must have left some sign on a piece of bark, as I
did at Waruskeek."

"I had expected as much," said the Indian, looking round the camp, "and
I had thought to find it here."

"Not here," returned the girl, with a soft laugh; "you don't know mother
as well as I do!  There is a tree, under the shade of which she and I
used to work when the days were long.  If there is a message anywhere,
it is there."

She bounded away as she spoke, like a fawn, and in a few minutes
returned with a piece of bark in her hand.

"Here it is, father.  I knew it would be there.  Let us sit down now and
make it out."

Sitting down beside the cold hearth of the old home, father and child
began to spell out Isquay's letter, while Cheenbuk looked on in admiring
silence and listened.

The letter bore a strong family likeness to that which had formerly been
written--or drawn--by Adolay at Waruskeek, showing clearly whence the
girl had derived her talent.

"The hand at the top points the way clear enough," said the Indian, "but
were you careful to observe the direction before you moved it?"

"Of course I was, father.  I'm not a baby now," returned the girl, with
a laugh and a glance at Cheenbuk.

"That you certainly are not!" thought the Eskimo, with a look of open
admiration.

"It pointed _there_," she continued, extending her hand in a
north-westerly direction.

"The Ukon River flows there," returned Nazinred thoughtfully, as he
traced the various parts of the letter with his forefinger.

"Is that river better than the Greygoose one?" asked Cheenbuk.

"No.  It is as good--not better," replied the Indian, in an absent mood.
"Adolay, this piece of bark carries some strange news.  Here we have
the whole tribe starting off for the Ukon with all their tents,
provisions, and everything in sledges.  So they left in the cold
season--"

"Yes, father," interrupted Adolay, knitting her pretty brows as she
earnestly scanned the letter, "but don't you see the line of geese
flying over the tree-tops?  That shows that it was at the beginning of
the warm time."

"Adolay is the worthy daughter of a Dogrib chief!" said Nazinred,
patting the girl's shoulder.

"I hope she'll be the worthy wife of an Eskimo youth some day," thought
Cheenbuk, but, as usual, he said nothing.

"And look here, father," continued Adolay,--"what do they mean by having
all their snow-shoes slung on their guns instead of on their feet?"

"It means that the snow was very soft, beginning to melt, and it was
easier to tramp through it without snow-shoes than with them.  I hope
they have been careful, for there is great danger in crossing lakes and
rivers at such a time of the year."

"No fear of danger," said Adolay, with a laugh, "when Magadar leads the
way.  Don't you see him there in front?  Mother knows how to draw
faces--only his nose is too long."

"That is to show that he is the guide," observed Nazinred.  "Did you not
do the very same thing yourself when you made Cheenbuk's nose far too
long--for the same purpose?"

Adolay laughed heartily at this, and Cheenbuk joined her, feeling his
nose at the same time, as if to make sure that its handsome proportions
were not changed.

"And look--look, father!" resumed the girl, growing excited over the
letter; "that is your friend Mozwa!  I feel sure of it by the shape of
his legs.  Who could mistake his legs?  Nobody is like mother.  She does
legs as well as faces.  But what is that on his wife's back--not a new
baby, surely?"

"Why not, my child?"

"Poor man!" sighed Adolay.  "He had enough to provide for before."

"Poor woman!" thought Cheenbuk, but he maintained a discreet silence.

Of course it was decided to follow up the trail of the tribe without
delay.  As Nazinred had surmised, it was easily found and not difficult
to follow.  That night, however, the party encamped round the hearths of
the deserted village.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.

The brief summer had fled, and autumn, with its bright sunshine and
invigorating frosts, had returned to the Far North, when one day, during
that short delightful period styled the Indian summer, our friend
MacSweenie and his inseparable henchman Mowat sauntered down to the
beach in front of the new fort.

"Iss it here the canoe wass lyin', Tonal'?"

"Ay, yonder it is, just beyond the palin', bottom up."

"Man, this iss fine weather--whatever."

"It is that," replied Mowat, who could hardly have replied otherwise,
for the fact did not admit of a doubt.

There was an intense brilliancy yet a hazy softness in the air, which
was particularly exhilarating.  Trumpeting wild-geese, piping plover,
the whistling wings of wild-ducks, and the notes of other innumerable
feathered tribes, large and small, were filling the woods and swamps
with the music of autumnal revelry, as they winged their way to southern
lands.  Every view was beautiful; all the sounds were cheerful.  An
absolute calm prevailed, so that the lake-like expanse in front of the
fort formed a perfect mirror in which the cliffs and brilliant foliage
of the opposite banks were clearly reflected.

"We will go down to the bend o' the ruver," said MacSweenie, as they
launched their canoe, "an' hide in the bushes there.  It iss a grand
spote for birds to fly over, an' there's plenty o' ducks an' geese, so
we may count on soon gettin' enough to fill the larder to overflow."

"Ay, there's plenty o' birds," remarked Mowat, with the absent air of a
man whose mind is running on some other theme.

MacSweenie was a keen sportsman, and dearly loved a day with his gun.
As a boy, on his own Highland hills, he had been addicted to sporting a
good deal without the formality of a licence, and the absolute freedom
from conventional trammels in the wild North was a source of much
gratulation to him.  Perhaps he enjoyed his outings all the more that he
was a stern disciplinarian--so deeply impressed with a sense of duty
that he would neither allow himself nor his men to indulge in sport of
any kind until business had been thoroughly disposed of.

"It hes often seemed to me," he said, steering towards the bend of the
river above referred to, "that ceevilisation was a sort o' mistake.  Did
ye ever think o' that, Tonal'?"

"I can't say that I ever did.  But if it is a mistake, it's a very
successful one--to judge from the way it has spread."

"That iss true, Tonal', an' more's the peety.  I cannot but think that
man was meant to be a huntin' animal, and to get his victuals in that
way.  What for wass he gifted wi' the power to hunt, if it wass not so?
An' think what enjoyment he hes in the chase until ceevilisation takes
all the speerit out o' him.  H'm!  It never took the speerit out o' me,
whatever."

"Maybe there wasn't enough o' ceevilisation in the place where you was
brought up," suggested the interpreter.

"Ha! ye hev me there, Tonal'," returned the trader, with a short laugh.
"Weel, I must admit that ye're not far wrong.  The muddle o' the
Grampians iss but a wildish place, an' it wass there my father had his
sheep-farm an' that I first made the acquaintance o' the muir-cock an'
the grouse.  O man! but there's no place like the Heeland hills after
a', though the wild-woods here iss not that bad.  Tonal', man, catch
hold o' that bush an' draw close in to the bank.  There's a flock
comin', an' they're fleein' low."

The last words were spoken in a hoarse whisper, for they had just turned
the bend of the river, and MacSweenie had caught sight of a flock of
wild-geese, flying low, as he said, and crossing over the land, which at
that place jutted out into the stream.

Mowat, though naturally sluggish, was quick in action when circumstances
required him to be so.  The canoe was drawn close under an overhanging
bush, and quite concealed by it.  The two men, laying down the paddles,
took up their guns and examined the priming to see that it was dry, long
before the flock drew near.  Then they sat motionless and silent,
crouching a little and looking upwards.

The unsuspicious flock of wild-geese came over the point in that curious
angular formation in which they usually travel--an old grey gander, as
usual, leading.  A deep trumpet-note now and then told of their
approach.  Then the soft stroke of their great wings was heard.  Next
moment the flock appeared over the edge of the bush that concealed their
human foes.  At the same instant sportsmen and geese beheld each other.
The guns flew to the shoulders of the former; the angle was thrown into
dire confusion, and the woods and cliffs reverberated with two shots,
which crashed forth at the same moment.

Trumpeting and screaming, the scattered flock passed on, and the hunters
pushed out from the bank to pick up two plump birds which lay dead upon
the water.

But those two shots did more than carry death and confusion into the
ranks of the grey geese.  They caused surprise and something like wild
excitement in the hearts of a number of Eskimos who, in their kayaks,
happened to be at that moment pushing up the Ukon River, pioneered by a
birch-bark canoe, which was propelled by an Indian man and woman.

Submitting to authority while among the ice-floes of the polar seas,
Nazinred had, as we have seen, consented to take his place humbly among
the women and children in one of the oomiaks.  Anteek and one of his
companions were permitted to paddle the birch-bark canoe, to their very
great satisfaction, until Whale River was reached.  But the moment the
party entered on the lakes and rivers of the land, Nazinred ordered
Adolay to take the bow paddle of his native craft, himself took the
steering paddle, and from that moment he had quietly assumed the office
of guide to the expedition.

"Fire-spouters!" exclaimed Cheenbuk, on hearing the shots of the
traders' guns.

"Yes--my countrymen," replied Nazinred.

The kayak of Cheenbuk was about half a length behind the canoe, else the
Eskimo would have seen that though the Indian's voice was low and calm,
his black eyes glittered with excitement.

"It is not like the gun of the Dogribs," remarked Adolay, glancing back
at her father.

"Why does Adolay think so?"

"Because there is too much noise.  You have yourself told me, father,
that the Indian uses a smaller charge both of powder and shot than the
white trader, as he cannot afford to waste it.  I never heard the guns
of our men speak so loud.  Perhaps we are going to meet white men."

The chief regarded his daughter with a pleased smile and a look of
pride.

"Adolay observes well," he said; "she is like her mother.  The sound was
loud because the charges were big--also because two guns were fired at
once."

"I heard only one," returned the girl.

"That is because you have not heard much firing of guns.  Adolay is not
yet as old as her father.  The traders from the great fresh lake must
have come to our land, and that is the reason why our people have
forsaken the old home."

As he spoke the flotilla rounded a point on the river, and came in sight
of MacSweenie's canoe making for the land after having picked up the
geese.

An impartial observer would not have found it easy to determine which
party expressed more surprise.

"Fire-spouters!" shouted the new arrivals.

"Eskimos!" exclaimed Mowat.

"Savitches--whatever!" said MacSweenie.  "Wow! but this _iss_ goot luck!
Gif way, my boy, an' we will meet them more than half-way."

Suddenly the trader ceased to paddle, and raised a hand to shade his
eyes from the sun.

"Tonal', man!" he growled with a Gaelic expletive which it is impossible
to spell, "iss that a birch-bark canoe that I am seein'?"

"It is that," answered the interpreter, "an' I do believe that--that--"

"Man!  Tonal'," interrupted the trader, as he dipped his paddle
violently into the water.  "It's wishin' I am that I may never see the
Grampians again in this world if yon iss not Nazinred himself wi' his
daater in the bow!  It iss my belief there will be rechoicing in the
Dogrib camp this night--though wi' such a band o' Eskimos there will be
no small risk o' fechtin' also!"

By this time the canoe and flotilla were so near that Nazinred
recognised the trader, and threw up a hand in salutation, whereupon
MacSweenie and Mowat, taking off their caps, treated the party to a
rousing British cheer, which was so congenial to the lively Eskimos that
they burst into a sympathetic howl, mingled with laughter and some fair
attempts to imitate the cheer, while they splashed up the water with
their paddles, and otherwise conducted themselves jovially.

Of course Nazinred would not condescend to conduct so undignified, but
in his way he expressed great satisfaction at the happy meeting.

Then all the paddles were dipped again with vigour and the whole party
made for the fort--the two canoes leading.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE LAST.

"I will be thinkin'," said MacSweenie to Mowat, "that it will be safer
for our two canoes to go first to the fort an' leave the Eskimos behind
the point till we warn the Indians o' their arrival; for there iss no
knowin' what these fiery savitches may do if their old enemies come on
them all of a sudden.  Tell Nazinred that."

The interpreter obeyed, and as the chief was of the same opinion, a halt
was called; Cheenbuk was consulted, and ultimately the Eskimos in their
kayaks were left concealed behind the nearest point below the fort,
while the two canoes advanced side by side.

"We will take them by surprise, Tonal'.  I'm fond o' givin' people a
surprise," said MacSweenie in an undertone as they drew near to the
little wharf that had been run out from the land in front of the main
building.  A few Indians were watching the arrival with some curiosity.

But there was one passenger in Nazinred's canoe who cared little for
interfering with human plans--namely, Attim, whose shaggy head rested on
the gunwale as he gazed and snuffed anxiously.

The moment the canoes came within a few yards of the shore, the excited
dog plunged over the side with a huge bound.  He was a magnificent
swimmer, and reached the land in a few seconds.  Springing up the bank,
he shook a shower from his sides and bounded into the bushes, with the
certain knowledge, no doubt, that he had reached home at last, and that
his faithful nose would not fail to guide him to the tent of Isquay.

"O ye rascal!" growled MacSweenie, "you've let the cat out o' the bag--
for I make no doubt that every man an' wummin o' the tribe knows you by
sight."

And the Highlander was right, for in a few minutes the whole camp was
roused, and the sight of the dog told them that Nazinred had come back.
But had he found his daughter?  That was a point which every one who
could walk, run, or hobble, hurried to the wharf to ascertain.

But the point was cleared up sooner than they expected, for, before they
reached the wharf, a graceful figure was seen to be bounding through the
bushes, apparently in hot pursuit of the dog.

Immediately after that a treble scream was heard to issue from a coppice
behind the fort.  It was followed by an equally treble squeal, with a
bass accompaniment of barking.  No one took the trouble to inquire the
cause of this, for they knew, somehow, intuitively.

As we have said more than once, it is unusual for North American Indians
to demonstrate, but Isquay and Adolay were, like Nazinred, in advance of
their times, and were in the habit of snapping their fingers in the
hideous face of the Red Indian Mrs Grundy!

Meanwhile, MacSweenie and his man were informing the Indians at the
wharf that a band of their old foes, the eaters-of-raw-flesh, were at
that moment lying on the other side of the point in their kayaks.

The news was received with surprise, not unmingled with frowns.  Every
one looked at Nazinred inquiringly, but that astute Red man was engaged
in profound contemplation of the clouds.

"Moreover," said the trader, "your old prisoner who gave you the slip
and ran away with Adolay is among them."

"Then," cried Magadar, starting forward, "we will get our guns and go
after them.  The young men have long wished for a chance of revenge."

"The young men hev wished for nothing o' the sort," cried MacSweenie,
with a fierce expression in his blue eyes that was very impressive.
"There iss no wan here wants to fecht but yourself, Magadar; but I will
not disappoint ye.  If you must fecht wi' some wan, ye shall fecht wi'
me.  But it iss jokin' ye are.--Come now, men; these Eskimos hev come
here on a veesit, an' full well do I know that there's not an Indian
tribe in all the land equal to the Dogribs for hospitality; so you'll go
and get ready a feast for our veesitors, an' I'll gie you some goot
things out o' the store to help it."

Whatever Magadar thought about this address he shrouded his feelings
behind an air of impenetrable and stern reserve; for he saw that the
young men sympathised with the trader.  Nazinred also, in a few words,
helped to confirm their sympathy by telling them that the
eaters-of-raw-flesh were not a war-party, but had brought some of their
women and old people along with them.  The end of it was that a shot was
fired as a preconcerted signal for the Eskimos to advance.  In a few
minutes the kayaks and oomiaks came sweeping round the point and made
straight for the landing-place.

The reception of the men-of-the-ice by the traders was of course hearty
and sincere, but the hereditary ill-will of the Indians was not quite
overcome at the first.  It was not until there had been several
meetings, and a feast in the fort, and Donald Mowat's violin had
exercised its soothing influence on the savage breasts, that harmony was
produced in some degree between the two parties.

At length MacSweenie began to see his way to the establishment of a
permanent peace, and he made arrangements to have a great palaver, a
solemn treaty, and a grand feast in connection with it.

"You must know, Tonal'," he said one evening when in consultation with
his interpreter in the privacy of his own room, "I hev got a plan in my
head which iss calcoolated to make things go smooth, if anything will."

He paused rather a long time, and as Mowat looked at him in expectation
of hearing more, it struck him that the deepened bronze on his chief's
face, and the slight motion of his shoulders, indicated suppressed
laughter.  But the Orkney-man was much too sedate a character to express
undue curiosity.  He waited patiently.

"Yes, Tonal'," said the trader, taking a few whiffs of the long clay
pipe which was his usual evening comforter, "I hev a plan, and, strange
as it may seem to an unsentimental man like you, love is at the bottom
of it."

"Well, you might have a worse foundation," returned Mowat, with
something of good-natured cynicism on his rugged face.

"Yes," continued MacSweenie, "that iss at the bottom of it--at least
weemen are, an' that's the same thing."

Mowat shook his head doubtfully.  "I'm not so sure o' that," he said;
"no doubt women have a good deal to do wi' love--but they're hardly the
same thing."

"Weel, Tonal', we will not fall out on that point to-night, for I hev
got no leisure to dispute.  Another time we may tackle it, but I hev
other fish to fry just now, an' we must begin this very night wi' a
grand palaver."

After a few more vigorous whiffs, and a frown indicative of intense
thought, the trader continued--

"I hev no doubt, Tonal', that you hev observed the curious and, if I may
say so, extensive variety of love-makin' that has broken out in the camp
since the arrival o' these Eskimos?"

"I can't say that I have," returned Mowat, gravely.

"Wow, man! for a fuddler ye exhibit a most extraordinary want o'
perception in the more delicate affairs o' human life.  Well, well, it
is strange.  But I hev observed it, an' I'm goin' to turn it to account,
if I can.

"You must know that I hev been troubled in my thoughts about that
warlike fellow Magadar, for, as you know, he was sweet upon the girl
Adolay before she was carried off by the Eskimo; an' Cheenbuk is such a
strong and bold lad that I felt sure there would be mischief between the
two about her; but to my surprise an' satisfaction Magadar hes gone over
head an' ears wi' that little Eskimo girl Cowlik, who must, I think, hev
been born in an easy-going frame of mind, which seems to hev stuck to
her ever since, and to hev gone on increasing with her years.  Then, as
we all know, our Indian Alizay has for long been efter the girl Idazoo.
There's no accountin' for taste, Tonal'.  I would sooner be married to a
ship's figure-head myself, but that's his look-out, whatever.  I hev
also observed--'deed it would be difficult not to observe--that the man
Oolalik iss castin' sheep's-eyes at that girl Nootka.  All this hes
impressed me so much that I hev set myself to observe more closely than
I'm used to do in such matters, and I hev discovered two more cases--
namely, that poor young Eskimo that was wounded in the last fecht, but
seems to be slowly recovering.  They call him Ondikik, and he would hev
kicked altogether if it had not been for the nursin'--so they say--o'
that nice little craitur they call Rinka, or something like that.  The
other case is that lively stripling Anteek.  He's scarcely more than a
boy yet, but young Uleeta, as they call the girl, seems to think that no
great objection.

"Now, Tonal', my plan iss to marry them all off-hand on the same day!
You know that by virtue of my poseetion in the Service I am empowered to
perform the marriage ceremony.  Of course, as a Christian man, I would
not fail to impress them with the fact that no real marriage can take
place without the blessin' o' their Manitou, but I think that the
readin' o' the marriage service over them may impress them favourably,
an' help in the caause of peace and goot-will.  It shall be tried,
whatever, so you had better go an' get your fuddle in order, an' send
the cook to me."

That night MacSweenie had the central hall of his fort lighted up, and
called together a united council of the Indians and Eskimos.

"My friends," he said, after passing the pipe of peace round among the
former, and offering it to the latter, who each took a whiff out of
courtesy, "this is a great night, for we hev met to join ourselves
together in a bond of friendship which I trust will not soon be
broken.--Tell them that, Tonal'."

When the interpreter had done his duty, Cheenbuk was asked to translate
it into the Eskimo tongue.  The process was rather slow, but as natives
and traders alike had plenty of time on their hands, and the proceedings
were a great novelty, no one felt impatient.

Then MacSweenie continued:

"We pale-faces, as you call us, believe that our God, our Manitou, takes
a great interest in all our affairs, from the least to the greatest, and
in the book in which some of us hev written down our prayers, we ask,
among many other things, that `there may be peace in our time.'  (For
myself, I may give my opeenion that the prayer would hev seemed less
selfish if it had run `peace in _all_ time'--but that iss by the way,
whatever).--Now, Tonal', go ahead."

Donald went ahead, but he took the liberty of omitting what he deemed
the irrelevant commentary.

"Peace, then, iss the thing that I am drivin' at,--peace and goot-will
between the pale-faces and the men-o'-the-woods and the men-of-the-ice
also.  There are many things that make for peace.  The first an' most
important thing iss goot feelin'.  Another thing is trade--commerce,
barter, or exchange.  (I don't see how the Eskimo will translate these
words, Tonal', but he will hev to do his best.)  Then there iss common
sense; and, lastly, there is marriage.  Now, I hev said my say, for the
time, whatever, and Nazinred will continoo the discourse."

Thus directly appealed to, our Indian rose, and, looking calmly round on
the assembly, said--

"Every word that our white father has said is true; and a great many
more words that he has not said are also true."

"Waugh!" from the Red men, who evidently regarded the last remark as a
self-evident proposition.

Dispensing with the services of Mowat, Nazinred turned to the Eskimos
and acted the part of his own interpreter.  They received his words with
an emphatic "Hoh!" as if they were equally clear on the subject of the
last words being indisputable.

"Our white father has said," continued the chief, "that the first and
most important thing in producing peace is good-feeling.  That is true.
It was good-feeling in my child that led her to save the life of
Cheenbuk.  It was good-feeling in Cheenbuk that made him care for my
child, and treat her well, and bring her back here to her mother and her
tribe.  It was good-feeling in the Eskimos that made them kind to the
Indian chief, and receive him hospitably, when they might have taken his
scalp and kept his daughter.  It is good-feeling, very strong
good-feeling, that makes the young Eskimo wish to make Adolay his squaw,
and it is the same good-feeling that now makes Nazinred willing that he
should have her."

"Hoh!" exclaimed the Eskimos at this point, with evident satisfaction,
and "Ho!" exclaimed the Indians, with equally evident surprise, for it
was contrary to all their notions of propriety that an Indian chief's
daughter should wed an eater-of-raw-flesh!  However, they said nothing
more, and after gazing a few moments at each other in silent solemnity,
they turned their eyes again on Nazinred.

Changing his tone somewhat, that wily Red man went on in a persuasive
manner to expatiate on the advantages of peace in general, and of peace
with the Eskimos in particular.  He also enlarged on the great comforts
to be derived from trade--which could be carried on with the white
traders on the one hand and the Eskimos on the other, so that, between
the two, the men-of-the-woods could not fail to obtain a double benefit.
As to common sense being favourable to peace, he did not quite
understand what his white father meant by that, for there was only one
kind of sense among the Dogribs--though perhaps there might be two or
three kinds where the traders came from!  But in regard to marriage,
there could be no doubt of his opinion on that point, seeing that he was
going to give his daughter to Cheenbuk.  Having finished what he had to
say, Nazinred sat down, after expressing a desire to hear the opinions
of his people on these matters.

For some time nothing was said, and it seemed as if the Indians were not
quite sure of their own minds, when Magadar arose suddenly.

"Braves," he began, in his brusque manner, "I like fair-play.  If
Cheenbuk is going to carry off one of our maidens, it seems to me
reasonable that an Eskimo maid should be left in her place.  There is
one of their girls who is named Cowlik.  I am willing to take Cowlik and
make her my squaw.  Waugh!"

Magadar sat down with the prompt air of a man who has conferred a favour
at great personal sacrifice.

Then Mozwa rose and delivered himself of an oration full of wise remarks
and poetical allusions, in which he backed his friend Nazinred.  After
him came Cheenbuk, who said that he was much gratified by the speeches
of Mozwa and Nazinred; that from the latter he had learned his first
lesson of good-feeling towards the men-of-the-woods, on the day when he
strove with him on the banks of the Greygoose River; that his second
lesson was taught him by Adolay--a lesson that he would never forget and
could never repay, for she had not only saved his life but made him
happy.

At this point MacSweenie broke in with, "Yes, my friends, an' there iss
a goot many more people here besides Cheenbuk that wants to be made
happy.  For instance, there's the young brave Alizay, an' that pleasant
craitur Idazoo, that's thinkin' about marriage just now; an' there's
Magadar and Cowlik, and Oolalik and Nootka, and Ondikik and Rinka, and
Anteek and young Uleeta; an' I'm not sure that there may not be some
more of you in the same case.  If so, all right; the more the merrier.
Ay, ye may look surprised, my friends, but I've got a way o' findin' out
these things that is not known to every wan.--Now, Tonal', gif them that
as best ye can, and look sherp, for there iss more to come.

"Now, my fruends, I want to explain to ye that when white people get
married they go through a kind of ceremony, an' put gold rings on the
weemen's fingers--by way o' makin' it all shipshape an' secure, you
know.  Now, I understand how to go about this matter, an' we hev plenty
o' brass curtain-rings in the store that's as goot as gold any day--in
this country, whatever.  So if it iss agreeable to the chiefs and the
braves around me, I'm quite willin' to marry ye all off at the same
time, and will gif ye as much baccy as ye can smoke in wan night; an'
we'll hev a glorious feast on the back o't, an' a dance that'll keep my
fuddler's fingers goin' as long as they can wag.--Now, Tonal', if ye
tell them all that, ye're a cliverer man than I take ye for."

Whether Mowat told them all that as faithfully as might be desired we
cannot tell, but he addressed himself to the task with a genial fluency
that at all events had the desired effect, for after Nazinred had
translated it to the Eskimos, it was found that they, as well as the
Indians, were quite disposed to fall in with the eccentric trader's
views.  Arrangements were accordingly made without delay for carrying
them into execution.

Of course the ladies concerned had no objections to offer; and it is
generally believed to this day, in those regions, that the interest
aroused by the promised ceremonial, not to mention the brass
curtain-rings, as well as the tobacco, and the feast and fiddle, had
much to do with the ready assent of all parties to this somewhat violent
innovation on ancient custom.

Be this as it may, the wholesale wedding eventually took place; the
feast came off; Tonal' Mowat charmed the souls of the Eskimos with his
violin, even more powerfully than he had charmed those of the Indians;
and Aglootook, almost carried out of himself with delight, volunteered
an oration in which he reminded his hearers that he had told them that
_something_ would certainly happen.

They all heartily admitted the fact, and solemnly proclaimed him the
most wonderful magician in the land.

From that day to this, as far as we know, nothing has occurred to
interrupt the flow of kindly intercourse that was at this time
established.  The Eskimos returned to their icy fastnesses laden with
some of the wealth of the white traders.

But every spring they came back to barter for more of it, as well as for
the purpose of seeing the friends whom they had left behind them.

For Cheenbuk, being unable to tear himself away from Nazinred, took up
his permanent abode at the fort as one of the hunters to the
establishment.  He did not however forsake his people, but frequently
visited old Mangivik and his mother at Waruskeek, and the old folk
sometimes returned the visit by spending a few months on the banks of
the Ukon River.  Anteek also elected to stay with the men-of-the-woods,
being unable to forsake Cheenbuk, and of course young Uleeta remained
with him.  Every year Nootka found it quite impossible to exist without
seeing her brother Cheenbuk in his own home, and having a satisfactory
gossip with her dear friend Adolay.  As Oolalik agreed with Nootka in
all things, there was no difficulty in arranging the matter.  In the
course of time Cheenbuk's youngsters and Nootka's progeny insisted on
keeping up the intercourse that had been so auspiciously begun, and even
the easy-going Cowlik became uneasy unless the fire-eating Magadar went
with her occasionally to Waruskeek.

As for the unselfish and tender-hearted Rinka, she of course returned
with Ondikik to the realms of ice, and made that fortunate savage happy.
Indeed, she made every one happy who came within her benign influence,
and if the truth had been spoken out by every one, we suspect it would
have been found that to her attractive powers was due much of the
enthusiasm for intercommunication that existed between the Red men and
the walrus-hunters, for the principle still holds good, in savage not
less than in civilised lands, that "love is the fulfilling of the law."

THE END.






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Walrus Hunters, by R.M. Ballantyne

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