Ootah felt a flush of fierce indignation rise within him.  His food for the winter, whereby he hoped to win Annadoah, that which might keep away the wolves of starvation, was being wantonly wasted.  He saw his companions cowering at the sight of the white man—­he drew himself erect.  He saw the Newfoundlander turn and shout to his companions on the shore.  Ootah thought of the saying, “Strike thy enemy when his back is turned.”  He seized a heavy harpoon handle, made of a great narwhal tusk, and swinging it high struck the Newfoundlander a terrific blow on the head.  He fell senseless to the earth, his face bleeding.  Half stunned he tried to struggle to his feet, but Ootah leaped upon him, and, as was ethical in the native method of fighting, trampled him into insensibility.  The man lay unconscious, his face bleeding effusively.

Without a word Ootah continued loading his share of the game onto his sleds.  Attracted by the attack, the other members of the trading party descended and surrounded the fallen man.

“Nice trick, eh?” laughed one.  “Sam got his all right.  ’Minds him right for being so damned fresh.”  They surveyed Ootah.  “Slick little devil,” one said, handing Ootah his gun.

“Take it, son,” he said, with maudlin magnanimity.  “You’ve got nerve!”

Ootah smiled bashfully, and shook his head in quiet refusal.

The half-drunken traders, laughing at what they considered a clever trick, carried their companion into one of the tents and poured brandy into his mouth.  Then they left him lying alone, half sodden, and returned to the shore.  Some watched the natives working, while others clasped the native maidens in their arms and danced.  Half afraid of the whites, flattered by their attentions, and extremely embarrassed, the little women jumped and danced in the visitors’ arms.

Papik finally drew his single sledge load of walrus toward his tent.  He had been rejected repeatedly, but now—­with a load of blubber—­he knew he could not afford to miss the opportunity of seeking a wife.

“Ahningnetty!  Ahningnetty!” he hailed a chubby maiden who, breaking from the arms of one of the white men, was seen running toward her shelter.

“What wouldst thou, Papik?” she called.

“Papik would speak with thee. Ookiah (winter) comes, and his teeth are sharp.  They will bite thee with pangs of hunger, and the meat Papik brings will make joyful Papik’s wife.”

Ahningnetty, summoning some of the other maidens, surveyed Papik’s load of blubber.

“Truly, as he saith, there is little food, and happy will be Papik’s wife,” said one.

“But when thy blubber is gone with what shalt thou provide her?” asked Ahningnetty.

“Perchance the bears will come,” Papik said.  “And skillful is Papik’s hand with the lance.”

“But thy hand is long, Papik, and long fingers soon lose their skill.”