The others, although disappointed in being outwon, in spontaneous
recognition of his superior feat, chimed a chorus of congratulations.
Suddenly Maisanguaq gleefully pointed a significant finger to the sky.

"Pst!" he said.

A black guillemot, like an omen of evil, passed over Ootah's head.


By all the immemorial customs of their people, because of the
established pre-eminence of his prowess, Ootah should now find favor in
the eyes of Annadoah. Scarce seventeen summers had passed over
Annadoah's head and of wooers she had a score. The young hunters, not
only of her own tribe, but of others far south, sought her hand. The
fame of her beauty and skill had travelled far. None, it was said,
equalled her dexterity in plaiting sinew thread; none cut and sewed
garments as this maid with tender child's hands. She made weapons, she
brewed marvellous broths. Since the death of her mother she had served
the tribe with her skill. Yet, as the summers passed, she remained
carefree and to all suitors shook her head. "Become a great chief,"
she would say. "Win in the games, bring back the musk oxen, then
perhaps Annadoah will listen." Each summer the young men pursued the
hunt with the hope of becoming chief hunter among the tribesmen. But
for three summers Ootah had won signally above them all. To the remote
regions of their world the name of Ootah was whispered with awe. Ootah
carried off honors in the muscle-tapping and finger-pulling matches; he
out-distanced all rivals in kayak races on the sea; he left everyone
behind on perilous journeys to the inland mountains. Of every living
animal on land and sea he had killed, and in quantity of game he