A stifled titter ran around the circle, for this was a home thrust. Honk-Ah had indeed, as Pŭl-Yūn had reminded him, been present at the hunting of one of the two bears which had been slain by the Sun-Men during the past four years, but, by over-caution, or maladroitness, or sheer ill-luck, it had not fallen to him to distinguish himself in that fight. All braves cannot be at their best upon all occasions, and that had not been one of Honk-Ah's days. The emergency which had found his cousin wanting had been one which had set the seal to Pŭl-Yūn's courage and address. Rivals before, the cousins had been rivals since, Pŭl-Yūn leading. The elders present perceived that their young war-chief, not content with re-establishing his precedence, was bent upon inflicting a public humiliation upon his would-be supplanter; perceived too, that he was probably aware of the plot which his timely return to his tribe had barely forestalled, and were wondering how the Honk-Ah party were taking it.
These, as it happened, were taking the matter extremely well. They had fallen under the influence of Honk-Ah not for any love which they bore him, but because a leader of some sort was needful for the tribe at a critical juncture, and he, in default of Pŭl-Yūn, was the only possible man. Their former war-chief had dropped upon them from the skies, and albeit they had wavered in their allegiance, and some of them had talked big over-night, with the instability of the savage (who, like a boy, is merely a man in the making, fickle and easily moved to good or evil), they were ready to return to duty. The result of the spear-throwing had shaken them, but this exhibition of Pŭl-Yūn's adroit eloquence had completed their reconversion, not to the new weapon but to the old comrade.
Honk-Ah was upon his feet, he had heard the titter of the women behind him, he had looked towards one and another of his chosen friends and followers, but had failed in finding an answering eye, he felt himself slipping, the situation called for instant action, he took it with a rush, there was no finesse about Honk-Ah. He struck his hardest at his opponent's weakest spot—this tale was too wonderful for belief. He appealed to the experience of the old chief and the half dozen elders, he claimed as a brave to know something, he and his contemporaries had seen a bear or two die, but they had died hard, had charged home a dozen times, had run, when it came to running, for a long way, had stood at bay under a storm of spears for half a day: it had taken every man of the hunting party all that he knew to finish the fight with a whole skin. Yet, this foreign woman, forsooth, had killed her bear, an Old Man Grizzly (there was no getting over that skin) with a casual poke with one—one—of her people's stupid little darts. Absurd! That the bear had died was evident—even bears cannot live forever; but, how had he died?—In a pit? or under a down-fall? or by a chance-fallen rock, perhaps? Such things did happen to bears as to men, he supposed. And doubtless this had befallen whilst Pŭl-Yūn lay sick, and—well—it was only too plain that his cousin had been very sick indeed, both in his feet and in his head, for in a word, this foreign woman had fooled him.
Pŭl-Yūn heard him to an end with grave patience, then turning to Dêh-Yān, who was now quivering with hard-pent excitement, he nodded. The girl retired to the wigwam and was presently back again no longer wearing the bear's trophies, but re-arrayed in a triple necklace of human teeth which encircled her brown throat in shining rows, whilst three scalps swung and dangled from her waist-band.
A low cry of utter wonder broke from the circle of spectators, and rose louder as, in obedience to her husband's eye, she made the circuit of the ring, exhibiting these undreamed-of wonders to the astonished braves with a sort of shy bravado. Scalps?—these were not the scalps of old men, or of women, but of top-knotted braves. The teeth, too, were not milk-teeth, but the unworn, fully-fanged grinders of men. She returned to her place upon the bear-skin pursued by admiring glances. All kept silence, not even Honk-Ah had any remarks to offer or explanations to suggest. Pŭl-Yūn arose again.
"My cousin is hard to satisfy. A brave who has killed his bear in single fight is still unworthy to meet my cousin. I ask my chief, I ask myself and you—nay, I will ask my cousin—Who is worthy to meet so great a warrior as Honk-Ah?—
"And, here is my answer!" he turned to his wife, "Behold my squaw, Dêh-Yān is her name, she is wearing the scalps of three braves, they were strong braves and great runners, a winter war-party (Gow-Loo, Pongu and Low-Mah were their names). They were well-armed, behold their axes and knives! They ambushed my wife, set upon her as she bent over a trap; so much did I see of the fight with these eyes, looking from the cave where I lay foot-fast. Did she fly screaming to me?—No, she thought for me; she led them away from our cave, a long chase, oh, a hard chase! one whole day. But this I cannot speak of particularly for I did not see it. Late that night she returned to me with these scalps. They were fresh then, new-stripped. Does my cousin, who speaks of down-falls and pits, think that my squaw took all three braves in a pit at one running? In a hopo, say, like a drove of horse? Does he think in his heart that these young warriors gave their hair and their teeth to a girl for love?" The speaker laughed merrily at the idea, and save Honk-Ah, everyone within hearing laughed with him; he stilled the merriment with upraised hand and turned to his antagonist.
"Once again I ask him whether he will play at the spear-throwing with this brave, my squaw?"
The speaker paused for a reply, and in the silence which followed braves and women alike craned for a better view of the face of the man whom he challenged, who was squatting upon his heels glowering upon his rival, the fingers of his throwing-hand tightening, slackening and again tightening around the shaft of his assegai.
An answer of some sort he must make, but, what answer would pass?