whaler, drank again from his flask and strode to the shore. His bulky
body reeled unsteadily.

"Come on up--bring 'er in--hurry up! Gawd, but you'r' blazin' slow!"

Ootah and his companions landed. Tugging at the leather lines they
drew the walrus one by one from the water to the ice. In these
monstrous palpitating black bodies were tons of food and fuel. Without
wasting time, they fell to their task and dressed the animals.
Meanwhile sleds were brought from the tents and the masses of steaming
meat and blubber were loaded. While the natives were thus busily
engaged, the half-drunken Newfoundlander strode about uttering great
oaths. The strangers' dogs, attracted by the meat, with shrill howling
descended to the ice and surrounded the sled-loads of blubber. Ootah
seized an oar and beat them away.

"What the hell d'ye mean," the Newfoundlander demanded. "Youh'd beat
our dogs? Eh? Get away, damn youh!" He lifted his fist above Ootah.
His face purpled, Ootah raised his lithe body, his muscles quivered
like drawn rubber. His black eyes flashed proud defiance.

"Youh'd fight me, eh?--youh defy me, youh damn candle-suckin' heathen!"

His hand descended. Beyond, the drum beaters ceased, the dancers
turned--a surprised cry went up.

Ootah drew hack, his face flushed. There was a red spot on his cheek
where the white man's fist had struck. He felt a sense of momentary
terror. The white men's methods of fighting were unfamiliar to the
natives. A blow from the fist is a thing unknown among them. Ootah