"Bring the junk."

A sled of matches, needles, tea, biscuits, knives, tin cups, a few
hatchets, and several guns and cases of ammunition were brought. While
these were unloaded a half-dozen eager natives hastened into their
tents and hurriedly brought out their portions of the preciously
preserved skins and ivories of the meagre summer hunt. Clamorous,
insistent, they presented these to Olafaksoah. They clustered around
him so that he could not walk. Ootah watched as the bargaining began.
He saw Annadoah clinging near the white trader. A number of the white
men began dickering down the line with Arnaluk.

"Load blubber--one tin cup--box black powder."

Arnaluk shook his head. Olafaksoah cuffed him with his fist. The
timid native did not have the courage to resent this brutality.

"What d'ye want, you greedy savage--two boxes matches!"

"Two boxes matches--one box shooting fire--one tin cup."

Still he could not be persuaded to part with the precious meat.
Olafaksoah swore and shook his fists. Fearful of offending the
stranger, the women joined in and shrieked at Arnaluk, urging him to
consent.

Unprotesting, he let them draw away his sled of blubber and tusks. He
had a tin cup, matches and cartridges--which he could not eat.

"Rotten lot," Olafaksoah said to Papik, surveying his single catch of a