Probably it had been made by the ship’s carpenter for some unfortunate member of the crew who had come by an accident, and died before he could avail himself of it.
Suddenly the magician exclaimed—
“I know! I always knew that I would know, if I only thought hard enough. It is a club for fighting with. When the white men go to war they always use these things.”
Grasping it in both hands, he swung it round his head, and made as though he would knock Oolalik down with it, causing that young Eskimo to shrink back in feigned alarm.
“That may be so,” said Cheenbuk, with serious gravity. “I wonder we did not think of it before.”
“But if so,” objected Nazinred, who always took things seriously, “what is the use of the hollow in its head, and for what are these lines and ties fixed about it?”
“Don’t you see?” said Cheenbuk, with increased seriousness, “after knocking your enemy down with it you pour his blood into the hollow till it is full, let it freeze, and then tie it up to keep it safe, so that you can carry it home to let your wife see what you have done.”
The usual quiet glance at Anteek had such an effect on that youth that he would have certainly exploded had he not been struck by an idea which displaced all tendency to laugh.
“I know,” he cried eagerly. “You’re all wrong; it is a hat!”
So saying, he seized the leg out of the magician’s hand and thrust it on his head with the toe pointing upwards.