The moon dipped behind the horizon.  For five sleeps naught had been heard from Ootah and his companion.  Inetlia, the sister of Koolotah, followed in turn by some of the other women, visited the igloo of Annadoah.  Upon her couch of moss Annadoah lay, and over her a cover given by Ootah and lined with the feathers of birds.

“’Twas thou who sent Ootah to the mountains,” one complained.  “May the ravens peck thine eyes!” cried another.  Annadoah shook her head sadly and wept.

“’Twas thou who chose Olafaksoah, the robber from the south, that thou mightest be his wife; and ’twas thou, his wife, who beguiled the men and robbed thy tribe.  Did we not give away our skins, and didst thou not make garments for Olafaksoah?  And do we not now shudder from the cold?  ’Twas thou who put the madness into the head of Ootah, the strongest of the tribe.  Many are the maidens who are husbandless and yet Ootah pined for thee.  Why didst thou not choose Ootah?  Then he would have remained and prevented the thievery of the strangers, we should not have been robbed, and he would not have had to go far unto the mountains, where the spirits have struck him in their wrath?  Nay, nay, thou didst make the men of our tribe sick with thoughts of thee.  They have quarrelled among themselves.  And before the white men came, did they not reproach us, their wives and their betrothed, with thy name and the vaunted skill of thee?  Thou art as the woman with an iron tail, she who killed men when they came to her, their skins flushed with love.  Thou destroyest men!  Thou didst send Ootah and Koolotah to the mountains!  And they have perished! Ioh-h! Ioh-h!”

Entering her igloo two or three at a time they reproachfully recited in chiding chants to Annadoah the story of her life; how her worthy mother and august grand-parents had died, hoping she would choose a husband from the hunters, and how she had refused all who sought her; they told, with reiterant detail, how she had caused quarrels among the men, and sent many of the warriors in their competitive hunts to death; and how, finally, when Ootah, the bravest of the hunters, wanted to wed her, she had chosen a foreign man, who deserted her and left her a burden on the tribe.  Sometimes they shook her roughly.

To the native women the brutality and virility of the men from the south exert a potent appeal; and the fact that Olafaksoah had chosen Annadoah many moons since still made their mouth taste bitter.  This jealousy rankling within them, they now with angry exultation took occasion to mock and abuse her.  The girl lay still and did not reply.  Her heart indeed seemed like a bird lying dead in wintertime.

Then one of three women who stood by Annadoah’s couch leaned forward and whispered a terrible thing.  The others looked at the girl and fear, mingled with hatred, shone in their eyes.

“Thou sayest this thing,” said one, “how dost thou know?”