blossoms, her lips red as the mountain poppies of late summer. He
started back and called aloud:
"Annadoah! Annadoah!" For she had smiled, cruelly and disdainfully.
Hoarse laughter answered him--the laughter of white men from the south.
A flock of hawks passed over the water. He was about to shout when he
heard the sound of kayak paddles behind him. He recalled himself and
beckoned silence.
II
"_The thought of Annadoah in the embrace of the big blond man, of her
face pressed to his in the white men's strange kiss of abomination,
aroused in Ootah a sense of violation. . . . He heard Annadoah murmur
tenderly, 'Thou art a great man, thou art strong; thy arms hurt me, thy
hands make me ache.'_"
Slowly, with silent paddles, the hunters moved over the limpid waters
to the north of the floe. On the far side they saw a horde of walrus
bulls dozing in the sunlight. Behind a ridge of ice they landed,
drawing their kayaks after them. With skin lassos, harpoons and
floats, the party crouched low and crept toward the prey. Thus they
would be mistaken for other walrus by the unsuspecting animals. Ootah
was ahead. Softly they all muttered the magic formulas to prevent
themselves from being seen:
"_Nunavdlo sermitdlo-akorngakut-tamarnuga_!" In the rear, his eyes
evilly alight, Maisanguaq followed.
As they approached the herd they scattered. Along the edge of the floe
lay about twenty monstrous animals, steam rising from their nostrils as
they snorted in their slumber. There were a half dozen mother walrus
with half-grown young about them. Now and then they sleepily opened
their eyes and made low maternal noises.
Before the others realized what had happened, Ootah sprang toward a
bull and delivered his harpoon. It rose in the air and roared
deafeningly. Ootah struck a second time. The animal floundered in a
pool of blood, whipping the floe furiously with its huge tail.
With a thunderous roar all the others leaped with one glide into the
sea. The floe rocked, the water churned like a boiling cauldron. In a
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