IT IS an unfortunate fact that we can gain nothing in this world without having to make some return. Kak paid the price of his glory in killing the ugrug when it came time to fill the family larder and the lamp. He was now expected to lend a hand in all hunting expeditions. Not that they needed more seals than Taptuna had always provided; but with the boy along to guard a second hole the Eskimo could set a double trap for his hidden victim, and sometimes save hours of watchful waiting on the wind-swept ice.
Kak no longer felt enthusiastic about the hunt. He had done his noblest—had landed on the tiptop of achievement at one bound, and lesser triumphs rather bored him. Hauling in the little fellows seemed tame. He maintained a lofty attitude toward hunting in general and small seals in particular. But of course he went with Taptuna. Kak was above all things an ambitious boy, eager to be a man; and a real man’s first concern is to hold up his end in duty as well as pleasure. So off they would trudge together, father and son, shoulder to shoulder, with one of the dogs trotting in front; search out their holes and squat on the ice, a little way apart yet companionable in the silence, till one or other of them saw his bodkin pop up, and speared his seal. Then they would get together to land it, and the day’s work was done.
This was in the morning of the year. You know in Kak’s country, not only the days divide themselves into light and darkness, but the whole year also. Spring and summer are light, autumn darkens, and Christmas comes in a continual twilight. Kak liked the autumn and winter best. To be sure, summer is cheerful. The sun never setting means daylight goes on all the time, and daylight activities with it. Nobody keeps any sort of regular hours. You sleep when you feel sleepy and eat whenever food is set before you; and it is all rather fun. But it grows terribly hot with the sun blazing over your head hour after hour for weeks. Kak often felt very uncomfortable even in a single old fur shirt; and if he took it off the pesky cloud of mosquitoes made life unbearable. Traveling without sleds over the rough ground was exceedingly difficult, too. So on the whole, he cared most for what we might call the evening, when the sun hid itself below the horizon, and the days were equal with the nights; when water froze and the snow fell gently, and hunting grew more agreeable. Next, he liked the period of moon and stars, or winter. Then the family settled into a comfortable snow house somewhere on the shore ice. Having eaten their stores of dried meat and oil during the fall, they were obliged to spear seals; but they did very little other work, and spent most of their time sitting about the lamp snug and warm, telling stories and singing songs.
One day in the morning of the year with the sun well up, Kak and his father went seal hunting. There were other hunters distant on the ice, for by now several families had joined Taptuna and Hitkoak. Luck continued poor. They had been sitting on snow blocks ever so long, the boy almost falling asleep from boredom, when he chanced to look in his daddy’s direction, and was turned to stone by what he saw. Beyond those hunched shoulders, not so very far away, three men with a laden sled and many dogs were approaching rapidly.
Kak knew them for strangers at once. Their clothes were quite unlike the clothes worn by his own people; nor were their dogs harnessed each to a separate trace and spread fanlike, but one in front of the other—an imposing string of more than six animals. He had never dreamed anybody would drive more than three dogs on one sled. The novel magnificence of it all took his breath.
Fear and expectation leaped in the boy’s heart. Every Eskimo believes there are bad Eskimos belonging to other tribes who are out to do him no good; if these were bad Eskimos there would be a fight—a glorious row with the odds all against them! Kak’s blood pounded in his veins, for he saw another chance of distinguishing himself. Then he began to consider those odds: a man and a boy and Sapsuk against three grown men and ever so many dogs, and these strangers looked big husky fellows. His knees knocked queerly. It would be worse than an ugrug or even a bear—men are wickeder than beasts and cleverer—and if they took his father by surprise.... No, no! That would never do. Kak understood he must warn Taptuna; but he did not want to let the enemy know he intended doing so lest they make a dash and get in first.
Plucking his bodkin from the hole the boy commenced to work around cautiously in his father’s direction; as he drew nearer, where he could see the other’s face, he suddenly knew that Taptuna was already watching the three men out on the ice; though he sat perfectly still and pretended to be minding his own business. You see, Kak’s father thought much more gravely of those odds against them and wanted to avoid any chance of a quarrel; so he lay low—played ’possum till the party should arrive. If they came peacefully, well and good; if they showed fight—he was prepared. He darted a glance at Kak revealing this plan, commanding him to be silent; and the lad froze where he stood.
The strangers came on rapidly, stopped at a distance, looked long at Taptuna, and bunched together for consultation; arguing, pointing at the hunters, gesticulating excitedly. After a while one of the three walked forward alone.
The Eskimo stayed hunched over his fishing just like a rock on the ice. Kak could see he was watching out of the corners of his eyes, and holding himself ready. The boy smiled, for he knew his father a desperate, clever fighter, equal to any man single-handed.
On came the foreigner in his foreign clothes, walking confidently, swaggering boldly, offering no peace sign nor suggestion of any such thing. He acted as if he owned the earth. But when he was yet five paces away Taptuna sprang lightly to his feet, and seizing his long knife, flung himself into defensive position, while Sapsuk burst out with loud barks:
“Wow—woof—wow!”
TAPTUNA FLUNG HIMSELF INTO DEFENSIVE POSITION.
The other dogs answered in half a dozen keys: “Yi—wow—yip—yap!”
The stranger stopped suddenly. All his cocksureness oozed away. His eyes stood out of his head and his breath came fast. Seeing the hunter brandishing his knife and ready to spring made the traveler shake all over. He looked more and more scared; he wanted to run back to his friends, and began to talk very fast and very loudly. For this fellow was an Eskimo also and quite as afraid of bad Eskimos as Kak’s own people. Both men were terribly frightened. Taptuna started making noises with his mouth; he thought this stranger might be a kind of ghost or spirit that would bring trouble upon him unless he shooed the trouble away by such noises. And the stranger thought Taptuna meant to kill him, and hurried to explain, shouting his harmless intentions. So they both kept on jabbering, and frightening each other more and more, making talking sounds which neither one understood. Kak hugged himself, thrilled to the backbone, and scolded Sapsuk; and Sapsuk barked and barked; and the big fat seal that was knocking its nose on Taptuna’s bodkin took alarm at the terrific row, and scooted back into the deep ocean and so got clean away. But nobody had noticed his sign of life, or knew he was there, and so nobody minded.
By and by, through all the racket and commotion, it dawned on Taptuna that the visitor was not a spirit but a real, live man who was talking to him in real, human speech having understandable words sprinkled through it. So he listened hard and presently made out the three strangers were sight-seers who had come from a far land and meant no harm to any one; and if they had omitted the peace sign it was only because, not having been that way before, they were ignorant of the customs. Then the traveler lifted his coat to show he had no knife, and Kak watched his father feel him all over to make sure of it.
When Taptuna showed he was satisfied the boy laughed aloud and dashed forward, wild excitement dancing in his eyes, and a hundred questions tumbling off his tongue.
“Where are you going? Where have you come from? What are you called? Oh, do, do tell us!”
He thought this miles better than a fight. Now they could all talk. He wanted to know about their far-away home. He wanted to hear it in a single word. But Taptuna threw cold water over such enthusiasm. Eskimos do not consider it polite to harry a stranger with questions. Kak’s father cried:
“Tut! Be off to your mother and say we have guests coming for dinner.”
At that Kak, rather ashamed of his bad manners, went racing away to carry his message. He was not afraid to leave Taptuna, for already the hunters of the village, whose attention had been attracted by all the noise, were running in from every side. Kak, romping on with Sapsuk, madly yelled the news to those he met and they hurried up, knowing this a great occasion. The stranger was escorted toward the group of houses on the ice, the other men being allowed to follow with their dogs and sleigh, but not to come any nearer, because Taptuna would not take the responsibility of receiving these travelers without first consulting his neighbors. As each seal hunter, carrying his sharp knife and spear, joined the party, the stranger looked more and more scared. He could understand much of their speech though, and began to feel better when he heard himself and his friends spoken of as honest fellows who might be welcomed without fear of treachery.
Think what a tremendous event it was for these lonely folk in their few small houses, in the midst of that vast, deserted snow field, to receive a visit from a distinguished foreigner; for that is what the leader of the party turned out to be. Two of the travelers were Eskimos from far west on the north shore of Canada; and the other was a white man who had come all the way from New York to learn what sort of people lived on the tiptop of the world, and who had studied their language so he could talk with them and really be friends.
Kak had never seen a white man, but he had heard of them from other tribes of Eskimos—Kablunat they were called. He did not think this visitor deserved the name, for he was really not white at all, but very much his own complexion, with blue eyes instead of gray, and the same brownish hair. The lad was intensely disappointed. He had always imagined a race of people glistening and shining like frosty snow; and the grown-up folk felt very much the same. Hitkoak made him stand beside this so-called “white man” to show how alike they were; and Guninana laughed at her squat boy, for in his fur clothes Kak looked about as broad as he was long.
“You have the eyes and hair, son; but you will have to grow like a young caribou before you can cut any figure in his country.”
Ah, if she had known what a spur to Kak’s ambition those words were to prove! “Cut a figure in his country!” He would never have thought of such a thing himself; but from the moment his mother’s idle humor planted the seed, that idea lay hidden in the bottom, inmost part, of the boy’s soul. He would attach himself to this Kabluna, would make himself useful, run messages, travel with him, hunt for him; and perhaps, when they went away over the edge of the earth again, he might be permitted to go along. Of course this scheme did not prance right into his mind whole, it grew and developed during the stranger’s stay.
For a while everybody was busy admiring their guests and getting acquainted.
The Kabluna wore fine fur clothes and carried under his arm a peculiar, long implement made partly of wood and partly of metal. Kak was simply dying to ask about this, to handle and examine it, only he would not let himself go, because his father had already reproved him for questioning.
“Is it a spear?” he thought, peeping behind the stranger. “No—it can’t be. There is no least sign of a knife.”
He ached to understand the odd thing, but had to wait, for now Hitkoak’s wife and the girls came running to be presented to the visitors, and the whole community stood about, all talking at once, with a deafening hubbub and babble and noise of barking dogs. Noashak, who I have told you was a rude, spoiled, forward little girl, threw herself on the strangers one after another; jumping up to touch their faces, getting under their feet, clinging to their hands, and mauling their clothes. They only laughed good-naturedly, which pleased Guninana and sent her hurrying off to put her largest cooking pot over the lamp.
Hitkoak had invited one of the two Eskimos to stop in his house, the other went elsewhere, while Taptuna entertained the white man. This arrangement gave Kak much secret satisfaction, he was so thrilled by desire to handle that long-nosed weapon.
“When the Kabluna enters to eat he will put it on one side in the tunnel, and that will be my chance,” the boy reasoned. But there was no chance, for the stranger carefully placed his gun in a special case strapped to one side of the sled, and covered it up closely; and nobody, except perhaps naughty Noashak, would have dared to think of opening that case.
Kak’s heart sank into his boots. It took his sister’s diverting cries of: “A feast! A feast! Blood soup!” to cheer him up.
“Blood soup—wow!”
Maybe that does not sound good to you, but Eskimos love it, and Guninana could make the delicacy just right. Lips smacked, eyes brightened, Taptuna and Kak hurried their guest inside; and almost before he was clear of the tunnel Noashak hurled herself on him. Now the Kabluna had come to live with them she claimed him for her own; scrambled on to his knee, felt his bushy hair, tried to tickle him, and pried out of his fingers a little box he had taken from among his things on the sled when he put the gun away; such a curious little box, full of many little straight pieces of wood, with red ends stuck on to them like tiny bits of rock. Noashak was delighted. She opened the box upside down and all the pieces fell out over the rug.
“Now, now! Leave our visitor in peace!” her father cried; and Guninana, squatting in front of her lamp, scolded mildly.
But Noashak only laughed. She knew she might safely be as naughty as she liked, for her parents never punished her. That is probably why she was so very awful and a plague to everybody.
In our country when a boy is really mischievous and bad his father or mother or schoolmaster or somebody gets after him and gives him a first-class, good whipping to drive the badness out. Unfortunately Eskimos believe if they whip their children, or punish them at all, they will drive not badness but goodness away from them—a sort of guardian angel who brings the children luck and blessings. Of course if either boy or girl is naughty enough to need to be whipped, it is quite fair for the angel to pick up and go off; but the parents naturally do not want this to happen, so they try to bluff the spirit by not punishing at all. No matter how bad Noashak was, she never got a whipping—but oh, how the neighbors hated her at times!
Even the Kabluna thought her a bother when he saw all his matches spilled on the rug. He began to gather them together carefully, for there are no shops in Victoria Island where one can buy such things, and it is very awkward to run out of matches when traveling in an ice-cold country. Two articles the white man valued more than anything else—the ammunition for his gun and his matches. However, since he was a stranger, far away from home, and her father’s guest, and had come so many miles to see these people, and wanted above all things to be friends with them, he did not say one cross word nor even frown; but took up a single little piece of wood, struck its rock end, and held the fire out to Noashak. Now when the child saw this magic and felt the hot flame she leaped away, hiding behind Taptuna, and would not come near the visitor again; though the others crowded around full of wonder. They had never seen a sulphur match.
The Kabluna lighted another and another, explaining their convenience, and finally allowed Kak to strike one and hold it blazing in his own fingers. Thus encouraged, the boy blurted out his eager question:
“That queer weapon you carried under your arm—what is it for?”
The white man smiled. “You mean my rifle?”
Kak never having heard the foreign word, rifle, looked puzzled. “The thing with a long nose,” he explained. “The one you packed away on the sled.”
“Yes,” the Kabluna answered, while his kind blue eyes held Kak’s. “We call it a rifle—it is for hunting. To-morrow I will show you how it kills animals from a great distance.”
The boy beamed. He liked this stranger; and the stranger liked him. He had spotted Kak as a bright youngster during the first half hour, and was willing to take some trouble and tell him stories of the far-away country, wording them simply so they could be understood. Our everyday life and surroundings are so strange to the Eskimos they could not possibly conceive them from just hearing the names spoken. If you had never seen a wheel you would find it difficult to think of a great, puffing, railroad engine. These people had never seen wheels nor any means of going about but the dog-drawn sleds, skin boats called kayaks, and their own legs; so the white man did not talk about street cars or telephones or automobiles, but described our homes built up and up, one room on top of another, till they were six rooms high, and twice six rooms high, occasionally even six times six rooms high. These Eskimos cannot count above six, so this was his only way of conveying an idea about the height of our tall buildings.
Kak worked it out next morning with snow blocks.
“Six times six rooms high!” he marveled, gazing at the pile.
It seemed unbelievable. Why should anybody want to build up into the air that way with all the open ground to spread on? He looked over his flat, white world, stretching bare and vast north, east, south, and west, and muttered: “Unbelievable!”
Kak had heard many stories of their shamans, or medicine-men, going to sleep and visiting the moon in their sleep, and seeing things quite as extraordinary as houses six times six rooms high. None of these, however, had fired him with a desire to follow. Now he tried to imagine climbing up the outside of such a house to the very top, pinching himself all the way to be sure he was awake. The notion made him chuckle, but not loud enough to interrupt. He intended to be very polite and hear more and more. So he sat quiet listening with his mouth a little open and his eyes wide and round; and at the end of each tale, while the others cried their amazement, he nodded, saying in his heart:
“Some day I will travel to the Kabluna’s country and see these marvels for myself.”
They sat late over breakfast next morning listening to more queer talk, till at last their neighbor roused them calling in the tunnel:
“I am Hitkoak. I am coming in.”
This is the polite way for an Eskimo to announce his visit.
The other two strangers were already outside feeding the dogs and waiting for their chief’s word as to what they were to do that day. They called the Kabluna, Omialik, which really means Commander; but Eastern Eskimos have no conception of one man being master over another or employing him for wages. Such conditions do not exist among them. So hearing this title they took it for his name, and all addressed him by it.
Hitkoak had discovered from his guest how anxious the explorer was to meet with natives, and so he had formed the brilliant idea of escorting the party to the nearest village which, he said, ought now to lie about a day’s journey away on the shore of Victoria Island. Eskimos are never quite sure where their towns are to be found, for even the places have a way of packing up and moving off. When comfortable houses can be built in a couple of hours, and each householder can carry all his belongings on one sled, it is easiest, if the fishing or hunting proves bad, just to move the whole village over to another site. Generally so many sleighs moving make a very deep track which will not be covered even by storms and blizzards for about three months, so that if at first you do not find the place you want to reach, you follow on and follow on until you overtake it.
Omialik was immensely pleased with the idea of visiting a local town; and instantly everybody wanted to go. Kak wanted to go. He itched to go; but he did not clamor about it half so loudly as the girls. Hitkoak put his foot down, saying it would never do for them all to flock over; for so many women and children and dogs landing in to be fed might embarrass their kinsmen; so after a hubbub of talk it was decided that Taptuna, whose brother lived in the neighboring village, and who had been there recently, should act as guide. Guninana was much better able to take care of herself than the other women, and she had more food laid by also.
Kak listened with his whole soul to the ins and outs of this argument; and when it was finished he literally threw himself on his father.
“Let me go! Let me go, too! I must go—I can hunt, I can walk, I can build houses. Oh, dad, do, do let me go with you!”
“And who will take care of your mother?”
“Noashak!” the boy cried fiercely, saying the first thing that rushed into his head.
That was a fine joke. They all laughed heartily. Now sometimes it is a good sign to have one’s request laughed at, for it puts grown-ups into a jolly humor; and again it is very bad, and means the thing is not even to be considered seriously. Kak hardly knew what to make of his parents’ amusement. He looked doubtfully from one to the other, and at last turned beseeching eyes on the Kabluna.
“If the boy can be spared, let him come,” said Omialik, and made Kak his friend for life.
Taptuna’s glance questioned his wife.
“Yes, yes, certainly, let our brave hero go! Noashak will take care of me very well.” Guninana’s sides shook with uncontrolled mirth. “I want to hear all that happens up yonder anyway, and the lad’s stories will be better than yours, Taptuna.”
So it was agreed. Kak could not stay indoors with the excitement of his great adventure surging in his veins; he had to go out and tear up and down, and yell, and let off steam generally.
Besides the glory and honor of arriving at the village in such distinguished company, he would see his cousin, Akpek, who was his own age and his best chum, and to whom he had long wanted to boast about killing that ugrug. Kak knew Taptuna could not resist telling of his son’s house-building and hunting to Uncle Kitirkolak; and he anticipated the relations would all make a big fuss over him when they heard the news. Akpek would have to pay him a lot of respect.
They were not to start until next morning for the strangers, both men and dogs, needed a good rest; and Kak thought he would never be able to put in the time; however, this turned out to be one of the most thrilling days of his life. Omialik did not forget his promise about the rifle. He took the weapon from its case and allowed Kak to examine it closely; hold it in his own hands; place it at his shoulder and look, as directed, down the long nose. The boy could not at all understand how it worked so their guest showed him. There being no wild animals about he set up a stick, walked far away, raised the gun, and sent a bullet through the wood from where he stood. The Eskimos were not greatly impressed for they thought it magic. Their own shamans told them constantly of strong spells which would kill animals unseen, and carry people to the moon, and so forth. What really excited everybody was the tremendous bang the gun made when it went off. Hitkoak’s wife and the girls were so frightened they ran into their own house and would not come out; and Noashak howled at the top of her lungs and kept on howling till poor Guninana, who was pretty well scared herself, begged the kind Kabluna not to do it again.
He did do it again though, just once more, to satisfy Kak. And when Kak learned it was not magic, and saw the small piece of metal which flew out of the rifle straight to its mark, he was crazy to try it himself.
“Oh, let me, let me, let me!” he teased, dancing up and down in a frenzy of desire. “I only want to whang it off once—I’m sure I can hit the stick.”
The white man shook his head. “No you can’t, not at the first trial—no one ever does. The fact is,” he explained, “I can only shoot this gun off a certain number of times until I get back to my own country, because I have only a certain number of bullets. We may need them all to kill animals for food, so I dare not waste any more.”
“Can they bang? Can they make holes in the stick?” Kak asked, pointing to the strange Eskimos.
“Yes, sometimes. The little fellow shoots pretty well.”
“If he learned, I can learn!”
This was not boast; the lad only felt very sure of himself and intensely in earnest; so his friend answered seriously:
“That is true. You can learn. But if you want to learn to shoot you must come to Herschel Island where there are shops to buy bullets—and it is a long, long way.”
“I don’t care! I’ll go! I’d like first rate to see places and shops and bullets. May I go along with you?”
Our lad had yet to understand the words he used; but he was throbbing with wild ambition; his gray eyes sparkled, and his perfect teeth gleamed in a double row. He looked a volcano of enthusiasm.
The white man laughed. “Wait, youngster! Wait! You go too fast for me. To-morrow we will try out what kind of traveler you are.”
That set the boy’s heart glowing with pride and hope. Well Kak knew he could prove himself a man on the trail. Had he not been to the village before; to fresh fishing grounds and new hunting grounds; indeed, half over Victoria Island? For his father was a restless soul, always moving from place to place and dragging Guninana and the children after him.
“Huh, all right! It’s a bargain,” was the satisfied answer.
Kak had a chance to prove his endurance next day for they struck from deserted site to deserted site, going many miles around out of their road in order to cling to the remnant of a faint track which would surely lead where the people now were. They camped after dark and rose early to find themselves in view of the town—a cluster of houses looking from a distance like so many snow cakes you might have turned out of a patty pan. Then Taptuna bade the strangers wait while he and Kak raced ahead to announce them and tell the people they were friends. Otherwise, if the dogs stirred and the Eskimos grew alarmed, they might dash out and try to kill the whole party.
Kak ran faster than his dad and reaching Kitirkolak’s home first vanished out of sight. He did not have to go into an underground tunnel, for this house was built with a doorway and a long shed leading to it.
“I am Kak,” he cried. “I am coming in,” and immediately popped his head through the hole in the wall.
His aunt rolled out of bed with three small children on top of her, gasping:
“Kak, you scamp! Bless the boy! How did he get here?”
“I came on my two feet with father and three strangers, one of them is a Kabluna——” He was panting from running and tried to tell everything in a breath, and had to stop and puff.
“Kabluna,” chorused the children without an idea of what it meant.
Akpek was already scrambling into his trousers. Kak’s uncle raised himself on one elbow and blinked sleepy eyes. “Is your father here?” he asked.
“Yes, and two strange Eskimos from far away, and Omialik from farther away. They are all over yonder; and they have two more than six dogs and much gear on their sled, and a long-nosed gun to kill animals, and little wooden sticks which carry fire. He let me try them myself——”
“Where is he?” yelled Akpek. “I want to try them!”
“No, you can’t. He hasn’t any more to waste. If you want to learn to shoot you must go to Herschel Island, and it’s far, far away—but I am going sometime——”
Aunt and uncle were hurrying into their clothes. Between boots and coats they stopped to hear the boy’s fantastic talk, little of which they understood. Akpek had but a single thought.
“Where is he?” he demanded, all ready to go.
“Come on and I’ll show him to you. They are waiting to be introduced. But you needn’t be afraid—it’s all right! I know them. They are friends of mine.”
Kak swaggered out of the shed, followed by his cousin; and so it was that Akpek came first of all his village to welcome the Kabluna.
The rest of the company were not far behind. Taptuna had been dashing from house to house telling his news; and soon all the men and boys came rushing out, talking excitedly and asking questions; some of them were even putting their clothes on as they came, which seems very odd if you stop to think how cold it was! When they felt sure the strangers were not bad Eskimos and did not intend to play them any tricks, they all formed in a line and walked out to welcome them, holding their arms above their heads and saying:
“We are friendly. We carry no knives. Your coming has made us glad.”
Omialik’s party copied this, and when the two lines met they began a formal sort of introduction, each man telling his name to the others; but Kak and Akpek, who had joined the village, grew tired of the business and broke away, and that upset everything; so the people all began to talk together.
“Now what shall we do to celebrate?” asked Kitirkolak, who was a leading man and anxious to give their visitors the kind of welcome which they would best like.
The Kabluna said Eskimos farther west danced when they felt glad; so it was quickly decided to have a grand general dance. Immediately all the men and boys ran off for their snow knives and began building a magnificent house, large enough to hold about fifty people standing, allowing space in the middle for the dancers. Then the girls ran for their drums, and commenced to sing; and they all felt so glad and happy they wanted to dance before the house was finished, though it only took a couple of hours to build it. Think of being able to build a perfectly beautiful dancing palace in a few hours! That is what can be done with cold snow blocks.
Kak had never before in his life enjoyed such a glorious time. The excitement went on and on; it seemed as if it would never stop. The villagers had also built a snow house for their guests to live in, and when everybody was tired to death dancing, they went away to their own homes; but Kak and his father stayed with Kitirkolak. The two boys curled up in bed together and whispered and whispered to each other long after the rest of the family were fast asleep. Kak had to tell about killing the ugrug. He simply could not keep it in a minute longer; and when Akpek chuckled from sheer disbelief, his cousin exclaimed angrily:
“Just you ask my father and see if it isn’t true!”
“Oh, all right!” Akpek agreed, for he hated quarrels. “I’ll believe it. I dare say you did spear the old ugrug; but anyway I’ve been in a bear hunt where our best dog was killed; and if you’d been there you would have run like the wind. Gee! It was some slaughter.”
That shut Kak up for a minute. He was more afraid of bears than of anything else in the world; but of course he did not want to admit that any wild animal could scare him enough to make him run away.
“When I get a gun,” he bragged, “I’d like to see any bear attack me. Why, I’d just walk right up and stick the long nose into the bear’s mouth and shoot it off, whang!—and where would your bear be then?”
“Well, maybe you’ll have a chance, for there are lots of bears about,” grunted Akpek as he turned over to go to sleep.
Kak lay very still, but wide awake. This talk of bears upset him. Suppose a bear were to come stalking about the house now, waking up the dogs; and they all had to run out, not even waiting to put on their clothes, and fight him off hand to hand. Oooch! The boy shivered. He really was horribly afraid of bears, and he wished he could be a shaman and have a powerful magic that would kill wild animals before they appeared; instead of having to stand still till the beast came close, or else creep nearer and nearer without letting the bear see you, and so get a good crack at him—which the Kabluna said was the right way to hunt with a gun.