raged toward them, they would skillfully shift their positions. The
animal would rush snortingly by.

With dexterous movements of the paddle, Ootah playfully moved his kayak
among the herd, in one hand his harpoon ready to strike. A feverish
desire to make the greatest kill possessed him. Each time a hunter
made an attack he felt a pang of anxiety. Tense rivalry spurred the
young hunters.

In the midst of the battle Arnaluk struck a beast. Ootah summoned all
his skill, and dashed in succession after a number of appearing
heads--he forgot his danger. Before the others realized it, he had
killed two. Maisanguaq's harpoon went wild. He jealously watched
Ootah and struck without skill, carried away by chagrin and rage. Eré
made valiant attacks for he, too, thought of Annadoah, but the walrus
invariably went skimming from under his blows. Papik's harpoon glanced
the backs of half a dozen. Finally it landed. He shouted with glee.
The inflated floats attached to the harpoon lines bobbed crazily on the
surface of the ensanguined waters as the animals tossed in their death
struggles below.

Two white tusks appeared near Ootah's kayak. His arm cut the air--his
harpoon sped into the water--an enraged bellow followed. He withdrew
the handle, free of its line and the attached metal point--the point,
with the sinew, descended into the water. It had struck home.

Suddenly a cry went up. One of the natives waved his arms frantically.
A great monster had risen by his kayak and fastened one of its tusks in
the skin covering the boat from gunwale to gunwale. To strike it with
the harpoon meant that it would plunge and capsize the frail craft.