"Atuk! Atuk! Have you found the atuk?" was the cry from all--a hopeless cry of desperation, as they crowded around the travellers.
"We have not found the atuk," answered Sishetakushin.
Some heard him stoically, others staggered hopelessly away to their wigwams, others wailed:
"The Great Spirit of the Sky is angry. He has sent all the spirits to destroy us. The Spirit of Hunger--the Gaunt Gray Wolf--is at our back. The raven, the Black Spirit of Death, is ready to attack us. The Spirit of the Tempest torments us. The Spirits of the Forest and of the Barrens mock us. The Great Spirit of the Sky has driven away the atuk, and our people are starving. Many of our people are dead. Four of our hunters now lie dead in their lodges."
Shad Trowbridge could not understand what was said, but he could not fail to understand the situation.
For some inexplicable reason the caribou, upon which the Indians depended for food, had disappeared from the land. All living things save these starving wretches had vanished.
For twenty-four hours not a mouthful of food had passed Shad's own lips, and a sickening dread engulfed his soul.
[Footnote: This was the winter of 1890-1891, known as "the year of starvation," when for some unknown reason the caribou failed to appear in their accustomed haunts, and as a result one out of every three of the Indians of northern Labrador perished of starvation.]
THE CACHE ON THE LAKE