"Nice trick, eh?" laughed one. "Sam got his all right. 'Minds him
right for being so damned fresh." They surveyed Ootah. "Slick little
devil," one said, handing Ootah his gun.

"Take it, son," he said, with maudlin magnanimity. "You've got nerve!"

Ootah smiled bashfully, and shook his head in quiet refusal.

The half-drunken traders, laughing at what they considered a clever
trick, carried their companion into one of the tents and poured brandy
into his mouth. Then they left him lying alone, half sodden, and
returned to the shore. Some watched the natives working, while others
clasped the native maidens in their arms and danced. Half afraid of
the whites, flattered by their attentions, and extremely embarrassed,
the little women jumped and danced in the visitors' arms.

Papik finally drew his single sledge load of walrus toward his tent.
He had been rejected repeatedly, but now--with a load of blubber--he
knew he could not afford to miss the opportunity of seeking a wife.

"Ahningnetty! Ahningnetty!" he hailed a chubby maiden who, breaking
from the arms of one of the white men, was seen running toward her
shelter.

"What wouldst thou, Papik?" she called.

"Papik would speak with thee. _Ookiah_ (winter) comes, and his teeth
are sharp. They will bite thee with pangs of hunger, and the meat
Papik brings will make joyful Papik's wife."