Kak rushed forward with his knife ready and his left arm thrown up in front guarding his face. When the beast reared and hurled itself for a grasp of the enemy’s throat its long jaws closed on the shielding wrist. With a gasp of pain the boy flung his arm wide, wrenching the wolf’s head clear around, and at the same second stuck his blade deep into the side under its foreleg. Between the double shock of the twist and the blow his victim lost its footing and fell to the ground with a heavy crash, dragging the hunter down on top of him. For a moment Kak rolled amid a convulsed mass of feet and legs, then as the spasm ceased the vise grip on his arm relaxed, and the animal fell limp. Such narrow quarters had offered no chance for a fair fight; it was lunge, grab or be grabbed, and die.
The boy scrambled to his knees, withdrew his knife, dragged the warm body out of the way, and with a shudder sprang from it into the extreme end of the crevasse. For five minutes he worked off his emotion by hacking snow like a madman. It fell around and over him in showers, hiding the bloody trail that oozed across the ice and the spatters from his wounded wrist of which, in his haste to get away, he took no heed.
All at once the roof broke, came down like an avalanche, and the fresh air streamed in. The boy stopped for a deep breath. He could grasp the ice edge with his fingers, but it was still too high for him to pull himself out. He worked swiftly, cutting blocks from the ceiling and piling their fragments against the end of the crack; and all the time it seemed as if that hideous wolf behind was rearing over him, fixed-eyed and open-mouthed.
Kak was pretty tired and unstrung when finally he placed both hands on the crusted snow and drew himself into freedom. How good the air tasted. How heartening was the vast horizon sweep! He ran to warm up, for it had been searchingly cold down in the bottom of that deep ice pit. “Bhooo!” he shivered, nursing his sore arm. Running soon set the healthy blood coursing in his veins; his body tingled and his spirits rose.
As soon as his nerves grew normal Kak’s point of view changed. He saw the hair-raising experience might be turned into splendid adventure.
“Why not have some honor out of this?” the boy thought. So instead of dashing home all trembling and excited, he held himself down to a steady walk, stopped outside a minute to give old Sapsuk an apologetic little love pat, also for the sake of seeming casual, and then strode in.
“I’ve killed a wolf, dad,” he said. “It’s a thin, poor thing, but it will help. See here.” And he threw his bloody knife on the floor by way of evidence.
Guninana wasted no time on the weapon; one glance at his sleeve and mitt set her bustling around for rude means of relief. The others cried out in amazement, examined the knife, bombarded him with questions, laughed and clapped like children, quaked and marveled, while Kak wallowed in praise and the show of his mother’s attentions. Okak was for going after the carcass at once; but the hunter assured him the meat was safely cached, and burst into laughter at what he called a good joke—then he had to explain. Unable any longer to keep up his hero pose he told the whole story.
It was an amazing story. Such ice formations are more common in the Antarctic than the north. Everybody flocked over to see the crevasse and help bring the victim home. Taptuna skinned the wolf beautifully; and you may be sure the boy was very careful to pack his trophy next morning, when the parties separated, each going its own way with perfect understanding, and much calling of gay good-bys back and fore.
Our friends were in high spirits. No one really minded the difficulties of rolling ridges and heavy travel. Guninana gloried in her son; Kak was triumphant; Taptuna seemed as proud of his new sled as Noashak of her coat with red trimmings. And Okak had enough trade goods to make him a well-to-do man.