descended to the ice and surrounded the sled-loads of blubber. Ootah
seized an oar and beat them away.
"What the hell d'ye mean," the Newfoundlander demanded. "Youh'd beat
our dogs? Eh? Get away, damn youh!" He lifted his fist above Ootah.
His face purpled, Ootah raised his lithe body, his muscles quivered
like drawn rubber. His black eyes flashed proud defiance.
"Youh'd fight me, eh?--youh defy me, youh damn candle-suckin' heathen!"
His hand descended. Beyond, the drum beaters ceased, the dancers
turned--a surprised cry went up.
Ootah drew hack, his face flushed. There was a red spot on his cheek
where the white man's fist had struck. He felt a sense of momentary
terror. The white men's methods of fighting were unfamiliar to the
natives. A blow from the fist is a thing unknown among them. Ootah
drew away--the bullying Newfoundlander followed.
"Youh'd beat our dogs, eh? Well, I'll show youh, youh oily,
tallow-eatin' husky!"
He called the dogs, and stooping to the treasured mass of blubber threw
a great mass to the howling animals.
"Ha! ha! ha! guess youh thought youh were smart, eh?" A second team of
dogs, released from their tethering, came wildly dashing shoreward.
The whaler seized another mass of meat and flung it to the animals.
Ootah felt a flush of fierce indignation rise within him. His food for
the winter, whereby he hoped to win Annadoah, that which might keep
away the wolves of starvation, was being wantonly wasted. He saw his
companions cowering at the sight of the white man--he drew himself
erect. He saw the Newfoundlander turn and shout to his companions on
the shore. Ootah thought of the saying, "Strike thy enemy when his
back is turned." He seized a heavy harpoon handle, made of a great
narwhal tusk, and swinging it high struck the Newfoundlander a terrific
blow on the head. He fell senseless to the earth, his face bleeding.
Half stunned he tried to struggle to his feet, but Ootah leaped upon
him, and, as was ethical in the native method of fighting, trampled him
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