At that moment an aged Eskimo pressed to the front. Tears were on his wrinkled cheeks, as he said, in a quavering voice—
“Yes, you could, my son. The wife of Mangek was my dear child. No man ever loved his wife better than Mangek loved my child. He would have killed himself sooner than he would have killed her. But Mangek did not kill her. It was the mad water that killed her. He did not know what the mad water would do when he drank it. How could he? It is the first time he has drunk it; he will never drink it again. But that will not bring back my child.”
The old man tried to say more, but his lip trembled and his voice failed. His head drooped, and, turning abruptly round, he mingled with the crowd.
It was evident that the people were deeply moved by this speech. Probably they had never before given the mad water much of their thoughts, but now, after what had been said, and especially after the awful event of the previous night, opinion on the subject was beginning to form.
Red Rooney noted the fact, and was quick to take advantage of the opportunity.
“My friends,” he said, and the natives listened all the more eagerly that he spoke their language so well, “when a cruel enemy comes to your shore, and begins to kill, how do you act?”
“We drive him into the sea; kill—destroy him,” shouted the men promptly.
“Is not mad water a cruel enemy? Has he not already begun his deadly work? Has he not killed one of your best women, and broken the heart of one of your best men?”
“Huk! huk! Yes, that is true.”
“Then who will fight him?” shouted Rooney.