“Why do the young men wish to go there?” asked Mangivik.
“To get food, and wood for our spear-handles and sledges, and berries, and to have a good time. Perhaps also to fight a little with the Fire-spouters.”
The youth glanced furtively at Mangivik as he concluded.
“To get food, and wood, and berries is good,” observed the old man; “but why fight with the Fire-spouters? We cannot conquer them.”
“You can ask that at the meeting. It is useless to ask it of me.”
“Good, I will do so. For my part, I am too old to go on long expeditions, either to hunt or fight—but I can give advice. Is Cheenbuk to be at the meeting?”
“Did you not know? Cheenbuk has already gone to the Whale River. We only propose to follow him. He may not like our business, but he’ll have to join us when we are there.”
Having picked his rib clean, and receiving no encouragement from Nootka to remain, Gartok rose and departed.
That afternoon there was a large meeting of the heads of families in front of what was known as the big hut. There was no formality about the meeting. Unlike the war councils of the Indians, it was a sort of free-and-easy, in which blubber and other choice kinds of food did duty for the red man’s pipe. The women, too, were allowed to sit around and listen—but not to speak—while the hunters discussed their plans.
Gartok, being the biggest, most forward, and presumptuous among them all, was allowed to speak first—though this was contrary to the wishes, and even the custom, of the tribe. He did not make a set speech. Indeed, no one thought of delivering an oration. It was merely a palaver on a large scale.