A Rencontre and Flight.

Thus it naturally came to pass that the two bands of men who had gone to the same place to meet each other met in the course of time.

There was a good deal of wandering about, however, before the actual meeting took place, for the Eskimos had to provide a quantity of food on landing on the Arctic shore, not only for themselves, but to supply the four women who had accompanied them, and were to be left on the coast to fish and mend their spare garments and boots, and await their return.

“We shall not be long of coming back,” said Gartok as he was about to leave his mother, old Uleeta, who was in the crew of one of the oomiaks.

“I wish I saw you safe back, my son,” returned the woman, with a shake of her head, “but I fear the Fire-spouters.”

“I don’t fear them,” returned the young man boastfully, “and it does not matter much what you fear.”

“He will never come back,” said one of the other women when he was gone. “I know that because I feel it. There is something inside of me that always tells me when there is going to be misfortune.”

The woman who thus expressed her forebodings was a mild young creature, so gentle and inoffensive and yielding that she was known throughout her tribe by the name of Rinka, a name which was meant to imply weakness. Her weakness, however, consisted chiefly in a tendency to prefer others before herself—in which matter Christians do not need to be told that she was perhaps the strongest of all her kin.

As the weather was comparatively warm, the women contented themselves with a tent or bower of boughs for their protection. They were not long in erecting it, being well accustomed to look after themselves. In less than an hour after their men had left them they were busy with seal-steaks over the cooking-lamp, and the place was rendered somewhat home-like by several fur garments being spread on the rocks to dry.

“Yes, Gartok will get himself killed at last,” said old Uleeta, drawing her finger across the frizzling steak and licking it, for her appetite was sharp-set and she was impatient, “He was always a stubborn boy.”

“But he is strong, and a good fighter,” remarked Rinka, as she spread a seal-skin boot over her knee with the intention of patching it.

“I wish all the other men were as strong as he is, and ready to fight,” said one of the other women, giving the steak a turn.

It must not be supposed that, although the Eskimos are known to their Indian friends—or foes—as eaters-of-raw-flesh, they always prefer their food in the raw condition. They are only indifferent on the point, when the procuring of fire is difficult, or the coldness of the weather renders it advisable to eat the flesh raw, as being more sustaining.

“I only wish that they would not fight at all,” said Rinka with a sigh, as she arranged the top-knot of her hair. “It makes the men too few and the women too many, and that is not good.”

The fourth woman did not express an opinion at all. She was one of those curiously, if not happily, constituted creatures, who seem to have no particular opinion on any subject, who listen to everything with a smile of placid content, who agree with everybody and object to nothing. They are a sort of comfort and relief in a world of warfare—especially to the obstinate and the positive. Her name was Cowlik.

“There is no reason why we should continue to roast our seal-meat over a lamp now,” observed old Uleeta. “There is plenty of wood here. Come, we will gather sticks and make a fire.”

The others agreeing to this, three of them rose and went into the bush, leaving Cowlik to watch the steaks.

Meanwhile the young men who had followed the lead of Gartok—fifteen in number—were cautiously ascending the Greygoose River, each in his kayak, armed with a throwing-spear, lance, and bow. One of their number was sent out in advance as a scout. Raventik was his name. He was chosen for the duty because of his bold, reckless nature, sharpness of vision, general intelligence, and his well-known love for excitement and danger.

“You will always keep well out of sight in advance of us,” said Gartok to this scout, “and the first sight you get of the Fire-spouters, shove in to some quiet place, land, haul up your kayak, and creep near them through the bushes as quietly and cleverly as if you were creeping up to a bear or a walrus. Then come back and tell us what you have seen. So we will land and attack them and throw them all into the river.”

“I will do my best,” answered Raventik gravely.

“It is not likely,” added Gartok, “that you will find them to-day, for they seldom come down as far as here, and they don’t know we are coming.”

The scout made no reply. Having received his orders he stepped into his kayak and paddled off into the stream, against which he made but slow progress, however, for the river happened to be considerably swollen at the time. He was also impeded at first by his comparative ignorance of river navigation. Being accustomed to the currentless waters of the ocean, he was not prepared by experience to cope with the difficulty of rushing currents. He went too far out into the stream at first, and was nearly upset. Natural intelligence, however, and the remembrance of talks to which he had listened between men of his tribe who had already visited the place, taught him to keep close in to the banks, and make as much use of eddies and backwater as possible. The double-bladed paddle hampered him somewhat, as its great length, which was no disadvantage in the open sea, prevented him from keeping as close to the banks as he desired. Despite these drawbacks, however, Raventik soon acquired sufficient skill, and in a short time a curve in the river hid him from the flotilla which followed him.

Now it so happened that the Indians who were supposed to be a considerable distance inland were in reality not many miles from the spot where the Eskimos had held their final conference, which ended in Raventik being sent off in advance. It was natural that, accustomed as they were to all the arts of woodcraft, they should discover the presence of the scout long before he discovered them; and so in truth it turned out.

The Indians had ten birch-bark canoes, with three warriors in most of them—all armed, as we have said, with the dreaded fire-spouters and tomahawks, etcetera—for, as they were out on the war-path for the express purpose of driving the dirty Eskimos off their lands, Magadar had resolved to make sure by starting with a strong and well-equipped force.

Of course Magadar’s canoe led the van; the others followed in single file, and, owing to the nature of their paddles, which were single-bladed, and could be dipped close to the sides of the canoes, they were able to creep along much nearer to the bank than was possible to the kayaks.

At a bend in the river, where a bush-covered point jutted out into a large pool, Magadar thrust his canoe in among some reeds and landed to reconnoitre. Scarcely had he raised his head above the shrubs when he caught sight of Raventik in his kayak.

To stoop and retire was the work of a few seconds. The men in the other canoes, who were watching him intently, at once disembarked, and, at a signal from their chief, carried their light barks into the bushes and hid them there, so that the Eskimo scout would certainly have passed the place in half an hour without perceiving any sign of his foes, but for an incident which enlightened him.

Accidents will happen even in the best regulated families, whether these be composed of red men or white. Just as the last canoe was disappearing behind its leafy screen, one of the young braves, who was guilty of the unpardonable offence of carrying his gun on full-cock, chanced to touch the trigger, and the piece exploded with, in the circumstances, an appalling report, which, not satisfied with sounding in the ears of his exasperated comrades like a small cannon, went on echoing from cliff to cliff, as if in hilarious disregard of secrecy, and to the horror of innumerable rabbits and wild-fowl, which respectively dived trembling into holes or took to the wings of terror.

“Fool!” exclaimed Magadar, scarce able to refrain from tomahawking the brave in his wrath—“launch the canoes and give chase.”

The order was obeyed at once, and the flotilla dashed out into the stream.

But Raventik was not to be caught so easily as they had expected. He had turned on hearing the report, and swept out into the middle of the river, so as to get the full benefit of the current. His kayak, too, with its sharp form, was of better build and material for making headway than the light Indian canoes—propelled as it was with the long double-bladed paddle in the strong hands of one of the stoutest of the Eskimos. He shot down the stream at a rate which soon began to leave the Indians behind.

Seeing this, Magadar laid aside his paddle for a moment, raised his gun to his shoulder, and fired.

Again were the echoes and the denizens of the woods disturbed, and two other Indians fired, thus rendering confusion worse confounded. Their aims were not good, however, and Raventik was interested and surprised—though not alarmed—by the whizzing sounds that seemed close to his ears, and the little splashes in the water just ahead of him. Fortunately a bend in the river here concealed him for some time from the Indians, and when they once more came in sight of him he was almost out of range.

In the meantime his comrades, amazed by the strange sounds that burst on their ears, put hastily on shore, carried their kayaks into the bushes, and climbed to the summit of a rising ground, with the double purpose of observing the surrounding country and of making it a place of defence if need be.

“Raventik must have found our enemies,” said Gartok to Ondikik, his lieutenant, as he led his men up the slope.

“That is certain,” returned Ondikik, “and from the noise they are making, I think the Fire-spouters are many. But this is a good place to fight them.”

“Yes, we will wait here,” said Gartok.

As he spoke Raventik was seen sweeping into view from behind a point in the middle of the most rapid part of the river, and plying his long paddle with the intense energy of one whose life depends on his exertions. The Eskimos on the knoll gazed in breathless anxiety. A few minutes later the canoe of Magadar swept into view.

“The Fire-spouters!” exclaimed Ondikik.

“Three men in it!” cried Gartok. Then, as one after another of the canoes came into view, “Four! six! ten of them, and three men in each!”

“And all with fire-spouters!” gasped the lieutenant.

“Come,” exclaimed Gartok, “it is time for us to go!”

The Eskimos were by no means cowardly, but when they saw that the approaching foe was double their number, and reflected that there might be more behind them, all armed with guns, it was no wonder that they bethought themselves of retreat. To do them full credit, they did not move until their leader gave the word—then they sprang down the hillock, and in three minutes more were out in their kayaks making for the mouth of the river at their utmost speed.

On seeing this the Indians uttered a wild war-whoop and fired a volley. But the distance between them was too great. Only a few of the balls reached the fugitives, and went skipping over the water, each wide of its mark.

“Point high,” said Magadar to Alizay, who had just re-charged his gun.

The Indian obeyed, fired, and watched for the result, but no visible result followed.

“That is strange,” muttered the chief; “my brother must have pointed too high—so high that it has gone into the sun, for I never yet saw a bullet fired over water without coming down and making a splash.”

“It may have hit a canoe,” said Alizay. “I will try again.”

The second shot was, to all appearance, not more effective than the first.

“Perhaps my brother forgot to put in the balls.”

“Is Alizay a squaw?” asked the insulted brave angrily.

Magadar thought it wise to make no answer to this question, and in a few seconds more the kayaks doubled round a point that jutted into the stream and were hid from view.

But the two bullets had not missed their billets. One—the first fired—had dropped into Gartok’s canoe and buried itself in his left thigh. With the stoicism of a bold hunter, however, he uttered no cry, but continued to wield his paddle as well as he could. The other ball had pierced the back of his lieutenant Ondikik. He also, with the courage of a savage warrior, gave no sign at first that he was wounded.

At this point, where the Eskimos were for a time sheltered by the formation of the land, the Greygoose River had a double or horse-shoe bend; and the Indians, who knew the lie of the land well, thought it better to put ashore and run quickly over a neck of land in the hope of heading the kayaks before they reached the sea. Acting on this belief they thrust their canoes in among the reeds, and, leaping on shore, darted into the bushes.

The Eskimos, meanwhile, knowing that they could beat the Indians at paddling, and that the next bend in the stream would reveal to them a view of the open sea, kept driving ahead with all the force of their stout arms. They also knew that the firing would have alarmed their women and induced them to embark in their oomiak, push off to sea, and await them.

And this would have turned out as they had expected, but for an unforeseen event which delayed the women in their operations until too late—at least for one of the party.