sun, was like tanned leather, hard, wrinkled; his expression was as
grim as graven stone. His large blue eyes glittered with the coldness
of flint. His hair and long curling moustache were blond. Ootah
recognized "Olafaksoah"--Olaf, the great white trader--whom he had seen
two seasons before at a southern village. He was noted for his
brutality and hard bargaining.

"What's all the noise about?" he growled. His voice was deep and gruff.

Ootah staggered back.

"Annadoah, Annadoah," he moaned softly, supporting himself on the
upstander of his loaded sled.

Olafaksoah strode forward with great steps, scowling. He critically
surveyed the loads of blubber and gleaming walrus tusks.

"Good haul, boy--good haul! Game's been pretty scarce all along the
coast. It's lucky we got here in time, eh, comrades? What'll you
take"--he turned to Ootah--"I don't know your name." He spoke in
broken Eskimo.

"Ootah," Annadoah whispered, "that is his name. Ha-ha, thou callest
him a boy."

Ootah winced.

Olafaksoah, with heavy strides, passed down the line of sledges.
Turning to his men, he called: