A Capture, Flight, Surprise, and Rescue.
If true love is, according to the proverb, more distinctly proved to be true by the extreme roughness of its course, then must the truth of the love of Angut and Nunaga be held as proved beyond all question, for its course was a very cataract from beginning to end.
Poor Nunaga, in the trusting simplicity of her nature, was strong in the belief that, having been found and saved by Angut, there was no further cause for anxiety. With an easy mind, therefore, she set herself to the present duty of spearing cat fish with a prong.
It was fine healthy work, giving strength to the muscles, grace and activity to the frame, at the same time that it stimulated the appetite which the catfish were soon to appease.
“It grows late,” said Pussimek, “and will be dark before we get back to camp.”
“Never mind; who cares?” said the independent Sigokow, who was fond of “sport.”
“But the men will be angry,” suggested the mother of Ippegoo.
“Let them be angry—bo–o–o!” returned the reckless Kabelaw.
“Nunaga,” said Nuna, looking eagerly over the side, “there goes another—a big one; poke it.”
Nunaga poked it, but missed, and only brought up a small flat-fish, speared by accident.