Over the mountains to the north a soft and wondrous light began to palpitate tremulously . . .  While the men of the tribe rushed to meet the oncoming team of dogs in the distance, the women stood and gazed with awe upon the increasing wonder in the skies . . .  The northern lights, seen nowhere else so splendidly in all the world, had begun the weaving of their glorious and eerie imagery.  A nebulous film of silvery light wavered with incredible swiftness over the heavens . . .  The snow-blanketed land took instantaneous fire in the sudden flares . . .  In the torridly tropic heaven of the virtuous dead an Unknown God, so the tribes believe, makes fire—­just as in the nether regions beneath the earth the Great Evil, who has revealed himself with a more terrible reality than the Great Benign, creates cold and forges ice.  In that land of the happy dead, disclosed in the aurora, there is never any night, nor is it ever cold.  So the souls there are always happy.  Sometimes in their revels they troop earthward to cheer the mortals who suffer from Perdlugssuaq’s frigid breath as it comes during winter from hell . . .  The women looked at one another.  The augury was good.

“The spirits of the dead,” one whispered, “are happy . . .  They are playing ball.”

Into their midst, surrounded by the glad cheering men of the tribe, Ootah staggered.  His face was cut and covered with black clotted blood.  His legs dragged with utter exhaustion.  His features were gaunt and marked by lines of frightful suffering.  His eyes were bright with the light of fever.  When he saw Annadoah a faint but very glad smile passed over his countenance; he made an effort to forget the anguished throes of pain in his limbs and the intermittent shudderings of cold and flushes of intense fever.  He tried to speak, but then shook his head sadly.  Instead, he pointed to the dilapidated sledge.  Three of his dogs had perished—­five had been saved.  The sled had been battered, but was lashed together.  Upon it, however, the precious load of meat was intact.  The subtle aroma of it sent a wave of gladness through the crowd.  They danced about Ootah, asking questions.  Ootah staggered backward and sank helpless against the sledge.  After a while he found voice.

“I am very weak,” he managed to say.

Several of the women disappeared and soon returned with a bit of walrus blubber.  This, having undergone a process of fermentation in the earth, possessed the intoxicating qualities of alcohol.  It is used by the natives for purposes of stimulation in such cases and in their celebrations.  Ootah with difficulty ate this.

He felt stronger, and rose.

“Thou art ill,” said Annadoah, approaching him, and gently touching his wounded face.  “Enter, Annadoah will care for thee.”

Her face was perilously near him; it was very wan and beautiful in the auroral light—­Ootah felt his heart beat wildly.  But it was pity, not love, that shone softly from Annadoah’s eyes.