KAK,
THE COPPER ESKIMO

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
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THE BOYS STARED INTO HIS WHITE FACE
—(See Page [97])

KAK,
THE COPPER ESKIMO

BY
VILHJALMUR STEFANSSON
AND
VIOLET IRWIN

Illustrated by George Richards

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1924
All rights reserved

Copyright, 1924,
By VILHJALMUR STEFANSSON AND VIOLET IRWIN
Set up and printed.
Published August, 1924
Printed in the United States of America by
THE FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY, NEW YORK.

To
CONRAD de WAAL, Jr.

Contents

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

KAK, THE COPPER ESKIMO

KAK, THE COPPER ESKIMO

CHAPTER I
The House That Kak Built

Kak was an Eskimo boy who lived in Victoria Island in Canada. He belonged to the Copper Eskimos. This name does not refer in any way to their complexions as “red Indians,” but is given because the people make all their knives and implements out of copper. As far as looks went Kak was quite ordinary—a short, muscular fellow, with brown hair and gray eyes, and a skin about the color of white boys’ skins at the end of the summer holidays when they are tanned. But his clothing was very different from ours, being made entirely of fur.

Kak was not counted a poor boy though he possessed very little. Eskimos do not go in for possessions. They are a migratory people, always moving from place to place, and so learn to get on with a small amount of gear, as we do in camp life. Kak was contented and had no cares. He never had to make up his mind whether to play with his meccano, or his electric train, or his radio. He was entirely ignorant of such things and yet not a bit dull. He found plenty of sport up there in the Arctic to keep him merry and bright. First of all his parents owned so little they were never worried about taking care of things; with nothing to do but kill a few animals for food and fuel and clothes they were as gay as children, always laughing and joking from morning to night. The boy could scarcely remember a day that was not full of fun and laughter.

In the winter they lived in a snow house. You would think it must be cold inside a snow house but it was not, because their large lamp burned in the house all the time and kept it cozy and warm; so warm that Kak usually skinned off his coat and shirt as soon as he came indoors. He did not come in often during the daylight, for he enjoyed the cold outside, and he was a singularly independent lad, doing just what he pleased. That is the Eskimo boys’ compensation for not having toys: they are allowed to do as they like. In the morning Kak did not get up till he wanted to. He did not have to wash his neck, nor mind his table manners, nor go to school; and he was never, never sent to bed. You see as there was only one room in the whole house the family had to be jolly all together all the time. In the evenings when the grown-up folks sat around telling stories and singing songs, Kak stayed with them, and so did his little sister, Noashak. They sat up as long as they possibly could, and when the sandman came and shut their eyes in spite of them, they toppled over asleep wherever they were, and somebody tucked them in between fur blankets.

Kak, whose name means the top of anything or summit, as of a mountain, was twelve years old when he built his first house by himself. It was a horrible experience which he will remember all his life.

The way to build a snow house is to cut big blocks the shape of dominoes out of a hard snowdrift and set them up on edge in a circle, leaning them inward a little toward the center. You must carve the first block diagonally in half so that its back makes a hill for the second row to run up on; and when you have started properly you can keep on building one row above the next, going up and around like the red and white on a barber pole, and always leaning them inward till they just naturally meet at the top, where you sometimes poke a very small hole for ventilation. The finished dwelling is a beehive of snow—awfully cold snow which has frozen together safe and solid in a surprisingly short time. Next you dig a long tunnel through the drift and a hole in the floor of the house, and that is the way you go in and out, like rabbits and foxes burrowing to their dens.

A family will occupy this sort of house only about three weeks; for the heat inside melts the snow walls, and as they cool off somewhat every night they turn gradually to ice, and the house grows colder and colder (for ice is much colder than snow) till the owners decide to have a new one. A few houses are magnificent with windows, ice windows, which being troublesome to make are carefully removed and placed in the next house when it is built. Even if the Eskimos continue to live in the same place they will build a new house every few weeks. When they are too careless to bother about windows, plenty of light filters through the white walls; and while the house is occupied the lamp is always burning brightly inside.

Kak did not live very long in his first house. He spent only one night under its low dome, and felt very glad indeed that he did not have to stay there a second night. The way of it was this:

Taptuna, Kak’s father, was going seal hunting with a neighbor. These neighbors, who were the only other people living within ten miles, had used up all their supply of blubber. Now blubber is the fat part of seals out of which drips the oil for the lamps, and as the lamp is the Copper Eskimo’s only means of warming his house and cooking his food, this was a serious situation. In his need the neighbor came to borrow from Taptuna, and begged him to help hunt seals. Taptuna readily agreed, for he was a kind-hearted man; so they started out early. But seal hunting through the ice is slow and difficult, and the first day they failed to get any. The next morning, however, while crossing a sandspit, they discovered the remains of a dead whale, half buried in drifted snow and earth. It must have been two years old at least, and the bears and other animals had eaten most of the fat; but Taptuna and Hitkoak hoped by cutting off parts of the outside flesh, which would make good enough dog feed, to strike an ample supply of blubber underneath. So they abandoned the hunt and fell on this free gift, eager to get all they could and that at once, for sled tracks in the snow showed other Eskimos knew about the prize.

They worked all day, not stopping to drag the meat home but piling it up chunk on chunk, only to find by evening that some crafty bear had clawed under and scooped away the very store of blubber on which they were counting. It meant they must hunt next morning and must catch a seal without fail.

Both men hated to waste the heaps of frozen whale flesh which had given them all the work they wanted to hack off with soft copper knives. Copper will not make nearly so sharp a knife as steel. Taptuna and Hitkoak, sweating after their labor, wished they had stopped about noon, harnessed the dogs, and sledded home some of this good food. It was too late now, and to-morrow they must hunt. Oil for the lamps was more necessary than dog feed. Until they killed a seal the neighbor would go on borrowing blubber from Taptuna, and it was already past mid-winter so he had not much left for his own family.

It looked as if their effort over the whale was going to be a dead loss; but the older, wiser man promised to sleep on the question, and next morning, when Guninana was boiling their breakfast, he said:

“Kak, my boy, while I am watching the seal hole to-day, you may harness both dogs to the sled and go to the carcass over yonder and bring home some loads of whale flesh. The young bear I killed will not last forever, eh? And it is well to lay in food while the laying’s good.”

Had Kak been an English or American school-boy he would doubtless have mumbled, “All right, dad,” and gone on eating his breakfast without giving any visible sign of his thrill. But an Eskimo never learns to disguise his feelings, so Kak grinned all over his round face and cried:

“Bully! Bully! Me for it! Do you hear, Noashak? I’m to drive the team.”

And he began to dance and jump about and was so delighted and excited he quickly pulled on his fur shirt and his topcoat of reindeer skin, and dashed out to pat young Sapsuk, his favorite dog, and tell him what a fine day they were going to have together.

His mother gazed fondly on her son’s brown head as it disappeared through the hole in the floor.

“Is it not too much for him?” she asked doubtfully. “Will the boy be able to find his way?”

“Yes, he will be able to do it just as well as I. Kak is a smart lad and has plenty of sense; besides, they have only to follow the trail we broke last night.”

So Guninana, who thought her tall, active husband the best judge of everything in the world, beamed on him and said no more.

Kak was keeping up a fine game with the dogs. He was so overjoyed he could hardly stand still a minute. This seemed the greatest event in his whole life; not only had his father trusted him with a man-sized job for the first time, but it was the very job he loved best. Kak would rather harness both dogs to the light sled and drive like the wind than do anything else in the whole Arctic. He was so proud of his task and so anxious to do it all by himself, that he waited and put off and dilly-dallied about starting till his father had gone. Of course Taptuna observed this, but he understood. He thought: “The boy will be tired anyway when he has fetched two loads, so there is plenty of time.”

“Get busy, my lad. Kill meat while the light lasts,” he called for farewell, and waving his harpoon toward the already crimsoned horizon, trudged off leading the neighbor’s dog.

Kak loitered yet a little gloating over the prospect of his ride. He wanted golden shafts of light bathing yesterday’s trail which showed now plain as an open lead. He wanted to be able to tear along. One fast dash to the carcass would more than make up for delay, so he fiddled with the dogs.

“Have you not gone yet?” asked Guninana, surprised, when she came out to examine her bearskin stretched on a frame to dry.

“Just as soon as the sun rises, mother, I’ll be away like an arrow. See, I am harnessing now,” Kak answered.

He was, truly. He had begun to hitch each dog to its trace at the first sound of her voice, and kept himself very busy about it.

Like all real boys, Kak did not mind a lot of extra trouble in making play out of his work. It was fun to pretend he must go on a long journey alone; so he went to the tunnel, which also serves as storehouse, and taking his father’s big snow knife, used to carve out the blocks when building, he bound it securely on to one side of the sled.

“Whatever is that for?” asked Noashak, who was playing with the neighbor girls, running up on top of the house and sliding down its smooth curve. “What is the snow knife for?”

“In case I decide to stop overnight,” said Kak, swelling with importance.

“Oh, pooh! Stay all night! Why you are only going to the whale carcass. It is no distance at all! Daddy said you could easily make two trips in daylight.”

Kak flushed. “I shall make double that—I shall make four!” he answered, hotly. “Watch me!”

As he spoke the sun’s rim peeped above the long flat beach, streaking the blue-gray world with vivid gold. As if at a signal Kak let go of his team and sprang for the sled with a “Yi—yi—yip!” Instantly both dogs bounded forward. They were off!

The boy shouted, waved his arms, knocked his heels on the sleigh and beat his gloved hands together with resounding thwacks for the sheer pleasure of making a noise, as the two fresh pups raced their shadows over the crusted snow.

It was a wonderful ride to the whale. But once there Kak had to do some hard work handling the big, rough pieces of frozen flesh and piling them on the sled. Perhaps it was not a very large load when he called time and headed the dogs home; still he felt satisfied with himself, and was quite ready to put on airs; and the girls, who had been mightily impressed by his glorious start, rushed to meet his return all clamoring:

“A ride! A ride!”

“No, it is too heavy! We have much meat,” Kak swaggered.

“But I want a ride! I will ride!” whined Noashak, who was a very selfish, naughty little girl, and deserved to be spanked. Now she made her brother angry.

“Hold off there! Get off, I say! The dogs are too tired. They’re panting. Look at Pikalu, how he puffs and blows.”

“That’s your fault! You have run him too fast. I will tell father on you.”

Noashak was not a bit nice in a temper. She climbed up the back of the load, and Kak cried to the other girls to pull her down, but they only scampered away laughing; then he had to stop and go around and pull her off himself. She kicked and slapped him and climbed up immediately they started. Kak came and pulled her down again and again; but in the end he had to let her ride because she screamed and yelled so. This sort of welcome, repeated, delayed him a whole lot, yet he had brought his two loads when the far edge of the ice floe dented the sun’s gleaming disk; and after that he brought one more. It was good work for a boy. He felt proud of himself and showed it, crowing over the girls.

“You guessed two, eh? And I have got in three!”

“Three! Bah! Three’s nothing! You said you could bring four,” Noashak jeered.

Now Kak did not like this at all. His male nature wanted to be admired and praised, even if he had accomplished less than he had boasted. Her unkindness made him feel like backing up his good opinion of himself.

“Well, anyway, three’s a lot. It’s more than dad expected me to bring.”

“Four!” bawled his tormentor.

And “Four! Four!” sang the neighbor girls in chorus, going over holus-bolus to his natural enemy.

“You promised to bring four and you can’t do it. You’re afraid! You’re afraid to go back again now!” adding an Eskimo taunt equivalent to “Cowardy, cowardy custard!”

They flouted him meanly, sticking out their tongues, stretching their mouths with fingers in their cheeks, making faces at him over the housetop.

“Bears!” suddenly yelled Noashak.

That was too much. It hit home.

“I am not afraid!” Kak cried, outraged. “Who says I can’t do it?”

He shot a half fearful glance at the sky. Daylight was slowly fading but it would last for a short while, and his dogs looked jolly enough; they had enjoyed more rest than running during their day’s work. If he made one grand dash back to the carcass, and only stayed to load ever so little meat, it would count the same.

“I will do it,” the boy answered boldly. “Who dares to say I cannot bring four loads? Hi there, Sapsuk! Hok, hok, Pikalu!”

He swung his team around in a wide circle and dashed away without waiting for comment from the astonished girls.

“Kak!” cried his mother from the tunnel entrance. “Kak! It is too late!”

But a breeze had sprung up blowing out of the west and whisked her voice in the opposite direction. Anxiously she watched boy, dogs, and sled dwindle to a small, black speck.

“You will come inside now, child,” Guninana commanded, ill pleased; and Noashak, humbled by her brother’s rash magnificence, and fearful of her own part in it, obeyed. The neighbor girls ran home quickly. All at once the flat snow landscape around the two snow houses lay empty and deserted.

By the time Kak reached the whale a rack of clouds had blown up hastening the night. The earth and sky turned all one dark, cold gray. Those other Eskimos, whom he had found cutting flesh earlier, were gone; and wolves howled distantly gathering for a feed. At their dismal cries Kak suddenly felt afraid. His hands shook so that he could hardly lift the meat. He stopped and peered over his shoulder, trying to see with his bright eyes through the thickening night. He did not care a jot for wolves, they are cowards and will fly from a shout; but Noashak’s last mean taunt burned in his mind. If a great white bear were to prowl out of the gloom he knew it would go hard with him and the dogs. His hands stiffened from fright and his skin grew clammy. Another long, lone howl arose inland; it seemed to run right up his spine. Kak fancied he saw a huge yellow blur moving beyond the carcass and at that his hair felt as if it were rising under his fur hood. The night turned blacker, the wind sighed icily, and fear overflowed him like water. He dropped a ten-pound chunk of meat from his petrified fingers and sprang for the sleigh calling his dogs:

“Hok! Hok!”

They were wild to be off home. At a single bound the team broke and ran, with Kak racing after them, yelling at the top of his voice to keep his courage up: “Yip—yip—yi!”—and mumbling charms his mother had taught him to scare off evil.

The dogs raced faster and faster; the howling of the wolves excited them; the nearly empty sleigh flashed over the hard snow; and a freshening wind behind drove the whole party on. Kak, thrilled by this rush of freedom, soon forgot all his fears. He urged the team with whistle and shout, yipping and yiing like a maniac or a real boy, till suddenly the sled gave a lurch, turned upside down, and sent him flying heels over head across its runners. The dogs, jerked back on their traces, stopped abruptly, and Kak, who was buried neck and arms in a drift before you could say Jack Robinson, picked himself up, dug the snow out of his eyes and mouth, and dusted off his furry clothes.

“Ouch! Bhoo! I say, old Sapsuk, where are we?”

As if he perfectly understood the question Sapsuk sat down on his bushy tail with his long, red tongue hanging out and his breath coming in heavy pants, while Kak looked about him. They ought to have been very nearly home; but the crazy driver could see no sign of the two little white domes that were his father’s house and Hitkoak’s. At first he failed to understand. The houses dropping out of sight seemed very odd indeed. Of course dogs and people move about and get lost if you take your eyes off them for five minutes; but a boy hardly expects his home to behave in that ridiculous way. And yet, peering in every direction as far as he could, which was not far on account of the darkness, Kak did not see a sign of a house. Then gradually he began to know it was not home that was lost, but himself and the dogs. His heart sank down, down, down like a stone cast into the sea. He remembered how in his panic to get away, followed by the reckless splendor of the run, he had forgotten all about direction, had left it to the frantic team to keep the trail. Examining the cause of their accident he felt sure there could not be any ice as rough as this lying between the whale carcass on the wind-swept sandspit and Taptuna’s home on the bay. They must have gone far past the houses; or maybe dashed off on a wrong line altogether.

Goodness, how the wind blew, now he tried to stand against it! The thought of returning into its teeth, slowly, painfully, following their own track was enough to make a hero weep. Perhaps they would have to go all the way back to the old whale before they picked up the true course. But Kak did not cry. He laughed. You see he had run right away from his fear: he really did not feel so upset as he should have done over being lost in the middle of an Arctic night. Retracing their steps seemed a perfectly simple and safe way of getting himself out of this scrape—but he counted without the wind. Racing before it none of the living things had guessed its strength. Now it beat upon them like a blizzard. Overhead, the sky hung dark with clouds, and close to the ground, where our boy had to bend to see their trail, the demon air was whirling snow in eddies, gathering up particles as sharp as sand to fling into his eyes. The dogs suffered also; but worse than these discomforts was the storm’s effect. Tearing over the open ground, grabbing a handful of snow here and scattering it there, that mighty blast soon hid their track. The farther back they went the less and less distinct it grew, till on the top of a small ice hill they lost it altogether. Poor Kak hunted and hunted, coaxing his team, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the house or the path.

When he had done every possible thing and quite made up his mind to abandon home, the boy felt relieved. Right down in the bottom of his heart he was not a bit keen about returning to that haunted neighborhood of dead meat. Wolves would have gathered there in numbers by now. Kak shivered. Spending a night in the open at a temperature of thirty-six below zero was not exactly inviting; still, he felt the whale carcass for five minutes would have been far worse. He sat down to think, hunched against the wind. A sealskin had been spread over the rungs forming the top of the sleigh, and when he righted his gear after the upset one piece of meat was found lying under it; the rest had gone spinning across the ice into darkness and he did not bother to hunt them up. Now this ridiculously small load reproached him, for the dogs would be hungry. He remembered dropping that dandy, ten-pound chunk in his crazy fear, and his face burned with shame over such cowardice. What a blessing the girls would never know! Crouching there he recollected wistfully his wrangling with Noashak that day, clear back to its little beginning. Ah! The snow knife!

With a rousing shout Kak leaped to his feet, and cut a caper before turning to unlash the thong holding his bully, big knife.

“In case I stay all night,” he had bravely boasted; so now he must act up to the boast.

“Right here I will build me a house!” the boy chuckled; and walked over the ground, leading the dogs, till he found a drift. To his soft, padding shoes this bank felt solid enough, but he did not dare to build till he had fallen on his knees and tested it by plunging his knife in here and there to make sure the snow was evenly packed.

“Seems all firm,” Kak decided, battling to brush the icy particles out of his eyes. With his face to the wind he cut his first blocks and built them up in a circle around where they were cut; each chunk as it came out lowered the floor a little and this helped considerably. But it was tough work for a lad; his short arms could only lift and place small pieces, which meant using ever so many more of them; still, he stuck to it like a man and as he worked the job grew easier for the rising walls of the house soon offered shelter from the cutting wind.

IT WAS TOUGH WORK FOR A LAD.

By and by he felt ravenous and called “time” for supper. The dogs, curled up on the snow with their faces buried under their paws, jumped from their sleep and answered, “Here,” with tail-wagging expectation. Kak tossed them morsels between bites. He enjoyed his meal of two-year-old whale meat, its gamy flavor was as delicious to his taste as pheasants seem to ours. The boy grew cheerier at every mouthful, and laughed aloud when his favorite snapped fierce jaws on a good bit thrown for Pikalu. Finally he sawed the chunk in halves and let the animals finish it while he finished his work.

Kak’s was a very small house. It had no tunnel at all and no proper door—but why have a door when one does not want to go in and out? Kak only wanted to get in. During the building he had been compelled to cut a hole in the lower part of his wall so he could crawl out and get more blocks; for there had not been quite enough material in the floor to finish the roof. When all was ready he scrambled through this small hole, pulled the dogs after him, and then closed it with a block he had cut for that purpose. From the outside the architect had not been able to see all the chinks in his house, but it was so dark inside every least little one showed clearly against the night; so he filled his mitts with soft snow and plastered them up. Then he spread the sealskin from the sleigh over his floor. Now all was shipshape. But without door or window they had no air. The boy made a little round hole in the middle of his door-block, and another in the top of the roof, as he had seen his father do, and at last, feeling utterly safe and tremendously proud of himself, cuddled down with a large woolly beast on either side of him, and was soon fast asleep.

A long drawn thunder, followed by a tumbling, rending, grinding vibration roused Kak from his dreams. He felt cold. It was apt to be chilly at night if the lamp went out, so the boy sought his father’s hefty form to snuggle into. Eskimo families all sleep in a row in one big bed, and Kak’s place was beside his daddy. Drowsily he threw a hand across to feel for him and rapped Pikalu on the nose. The dog growled. Then his master woke up enough to find himself in his clothes and remembered.

Another rumble, more prolonged, more terrifying than the last, shook the whole house. Kak rose on his elbow and listened. He could hear the wind whistling around their shelter, while the smashing and bumping never ceased. You would have come out all over in goose flesh and popped your head under the blanket; but Kak only turned on his other side and lay up closer to Sapsuk. The row outside was no more alarming to him than taxicabs beneath your window, or a trolley car clanging across rails, for well he knew its meaning; a gale had driven the sea ice in on the landfast ice, and the two floes were grinding and groaning and churning against each other, with bolts of thunder when sometimes a great mass as big as a house toppled over another great mass, and vibration like an earthquake as it slid off again. This sort of show was fun to watch in the daytime, and nothing to be afraid of at night when you were safely camped in your own house which you had constructed all by yourself on the solid, landfast ice.

But while the lost boy slept so peacefully his father and mother and sister were very unhappy and anxious.

The seal hunters had returned at dark, each dragging a fine, fat seal and congratulating the other on a good day’s work. They parted with jests and laughter outside Hitkoak’s place; and Taptuna strode on cheerily to his own home. But before he had got within calling distance he knew something was wrong; even in twilight he missed his sled’s black bulk; and where were his dogs? They should have come bounding to welcome him, wagging their tails, asking for friendly pats, jumping up, frisking, romping. Instead of being the center of this lively scene the little white roof of his house humped itself out of the white ground like a solitary tomb.

Taptuna wasted no time on the seal. Letting it lie he strode inside, calling for Kak. Guninana raised an anxious face from over her cooking pot and told the worst:

“He has gone! That wild boy dashed off for one last load of whale meat after the sky had turned gray. I called, ‘It is too late!’ but the dogs were already galloping, the wind blowing—Kak did not hear.”

“How long?” demanded Taptuna.

“Long enough to be back now,” answered the mother shaking her head. Then she spoke her haunting fear: “There are bears all around and he carried neither spear nor bow.”

Guninana was horribly afraid of bears, more afraid of a polar bear than of anything else in the whole world.

Without a word Taptuna turned to go.

“You will eat first?” his wife pleaded, for she knew he had taken only a piece of dried meat since morning.

“I will have a drink of broth.”

She hurried to give this to him in a horn cup, saying: “It would be better to eat.”

“The wind rises,” Taptuna replied, and there was no need for him to say more. Pulling up his hood he disappeared through the low door.

Guninana silently stirred the stew, and Noashak, completely subdued by creeping fear, stole close to her mother’s side.

Taptuna crossed to Hitkoak’s. He who had so freely given help with the hunting, could now as freely ask for help. Very soon the neighbor’s dogs were harnessed, and both men set out for the whale carcass. The wind was rising. It howled louder and louder, and drove straight into their faces, making the journey as harsh for them as for Kak and his team, who were plodding back in the same direction, a mile or so out on the ice, but hidden by darkness and whirling snow.

At last Taptuna saw the whale bulking black on the sandspit. They hurried on, watching thin shadows slink from its side at the noise of their approach. It was evident wolves had been there in numbers, all the ground around was trampled with their footsteps freshly sunk in the freshly driven snow, but there were no sled tracks at all; therefore the search party knew Kak must have started away before the wind began to blow so fiercely. He must have lost the trail; he might be anywhere. It would be madness to try to follow him through the stormy night.

“We will need luck to get safely home ourselves,” Hitkoak said, peering at their own drifted tracks; and Taptuna reluctantly agreed. Nothing could be done till to-morrow; so they turned their backs to the gale and were blown along watching every inch of the way; and shouting—shouting—for the boy might be wandering close at hand.

Sadly Kak’s father helped tether the dogs, and struggled to his own house. He knew Guninana would have the lamp burning and her meat pot on to boil; but he little expected the cheery manner with which she greeted him. Her face was so many degrees less worried it seemed almost smiling, and her eager words bubbled up like the fragrant bear stew.

“He has the snow knife.”

“What do you say?”

“It is all right! Everything’s all right! Kak took with him your big knife.”

As Taptuna pulled off his great fur coats and hung his mittens near the lamp to dry, Guninana excitedly told of their boy’s boast about staying all night. Her telling made the story sound more purposeful than Kak’s careless morning play, for Noashak had told it so. The child was weeping for her brother lost in the driving snow, and as she wept and feared, fear led her to remorse. She felt oh, so sorry about their quarrel, and remembering its cause, suddenly the idle threat turned to a promise. Now that Kak did not come back she knew he had really intended staying away. She was awed by his independence; her mother provoked and delighted.

“He is a rash one, is our lad!” chuckled the little woman, slapping her plump hands on her plump knees.

“Kak has sense,” his father grunted between mouthfuls. “Since he carries the snow knife we needn’t worry about their being cold to-night. Let us go to bed quickly—I am as tired as any man on this earth; and with the first streak of light we must be after him again.”

So the remains of the family went to bed, all three in a row; and Kak’s father was soon snoring; but his mother lay awake a long time, wondering if her little boy really could manage to build a house all by himself. Taptuna said he could—and Taptuna was generally right. Presently she sighed and fell asleep, and the shrieking ice pack troubled her no more than it did Kak, for Guninana was only afraid of bears.

Kak slept late. Excitement and wild driving tire a boy more than he reckons, and he had done a full day’s work with the meat before building his house. So he was not a bit ashamed when he opened one eye to find strong yellow sunshine striking through the dome. He snuggled down again only half conscious of having been disturbed by unexpected noise. It sounded once more—knock, knock, knock. But the boy was dreadfully sleepy.

Knock—knock—knock.

This could not be the grinding of ice nor the sob of wind, nor yet a dog’s deep breathing. He opened both eyes and lay staring up. A band of darkness danced across the roof. Something was outside—something large and active! The boy gazed dumbly. What kind of an awful critter could it be? His fancy leaped to bears. He lay petrified with fright.

A soft thud followed. The shadow vanished, sunk to a spot. Kak nerved himself to reach for the snow knife, his only weapon. Then a prolonged squeak on a high note riveted his glance on the dark blot. He saw one sharp claw thrust through. It moved rapidly. Having been shocked awake, the boy was still too dazed to comprehend. He thought some ravenous, strange animal must be breaking in on them. He was too scared to scream, to move, even to rouse the dogs, till a lump of snow falling from the roof saved him the trouble. Like a flash Sapsuk sprang to fight Pikalu for the honor of meeting this attack. Panic ensued—a regular good mix-up. The pups barked and scrambled and trod on each other, and nipped and yelped and walked over poor Kak who, crowded under the edge of his house anxiously eyeing the shadow, wished his defenders had been ten times more savage.

It is a wonder they did not knock the place down; for until a snow house has had a fire in it to melt the inner surface, which quickly freezes from the cold outside, and so forms a hard ice dome, it is a very fragile sort of shelter.

All at once the boy woke up and understood. He laughed at himself, trying to curb the dogs between chuckles. A second later the door-block fell in with a shower of soft snow, and his father’s head appeared.

Taptuna joined in the laugh. “Stole a march on you, Kak! Ha-ha! This is a fine house you have built, with no door. Lucky I happened along to dig you out—eh? Down, Sapsuk!”

“Dad!”

Kak leaped up, cracked his head against Pikalu’s, and fell on his knees with a howl, rubbing the place. Tears sprang to his eyes. Now that they were safely found, all last night’s terrors, which he had so bravely put aside, rushed over him. He was glad of an excuse to cry. Taptuna, still in the doorway, jollied his son and pretended not to notice the tears.

“You sleep so late here you must sleep well—no worries at all? But it was a grand scare you gave us yonder; going off to set up an establishment for yourself without a word of warning. A fine place like this, too!”

“I didn’t go off to set up anything,” mumbled Kak. “We got lost.”

“Lost! What? On that plain trail you had traveled all day?”

“I—I thought there was a bear—and we whirled along.”

“Ah, you take after your mother.”

Kak blushed to the edge of his hood, and who can say how much farther? For Guninana’s abject fear of polar bears was a standing joke in the family.

“Help me out! Help me out!” he cried, so as to change the subject.

The dogs began to make a worse row than ever, for the inrushing cold air carried a tantalizing smell of fresh seal meat which Taptuna had brought along. They all looked so funny dashing about inside the funny little house, Kak struggling among his team and trying to talk, while legs, arms, feet, and heads shot in every direction, that his father laughed and laughed and laughed! It would be a pity, he said, to spoil the show by letting them out too soon.

“No, no! Let us out. I want to go home,” begged the boy.

“But what about this elegant house? You will not desert it at once?” Taptuna teased.

“Help! Help!” wailed Kak, with a break in his voice.

So his father, seeing he was in earnest, backed away from the door; and immediately the dogs tumbled out with Kak on top of them, all snowy and furry and glad to be free.

There was frozen fish for a picnic breakfast on the sled, with raw seal for the dogs; and while they all four ate, Taptuna continued jollying Kak about his new home. The boy did not mind now because he was in the open air and having a good meal. Of course, being Eskimos, they thought frozen fish a dandy breakfast even for a cold morning. Kak ate his up to the last crumb, and it put him in such good humor that he was willing to laugh at his house, and to own the tiny shelter did not look much viewed from outside by critical eyes on a bright, sunny day. To begin with, it was very low—more like a mushroom than a beehive, for the top of the dome had sunk in a little from its own weight and not being properly built; and it was far from round; and far from smooth; and the crooked small blocks sat every which way.

“But it did stand up!” its owner cried defensively. “And it was cozy inside with the dogs, and saved us from the wind and the snow and wolves and bears and being frozen. I had to try to make it!”

“You did well, my son,” said Taptuna, suddenly growing serious. “And the house is very good for a first effort, and in the dark, too. I’m proud of you. Not only because you were able to build a house for yourself, but because you had the right idea in an emergency; the common sense to know what you needed and the pluck to go after it.”

When his father praised him Kak felt the tears rush again to his eyes; so all at once he began to be very busy harnessing the dogs.

Now although Taptuna teased about the night’s adventure he was really and truly bursting with pride over his clever son. He brought Guninana and Hitkoak, at different times, to see the mushroom. Kak’s house became famous. The story of how the boy had weathered that night alone and sheltered his team from the gale was told and retold, till he swaggered like a man on the strength of this great achievement. His mother began to consult him about things instead of issuing orders; while the neighbor girls and Noashak were filled with awe and admiration. They never again dared to make faces or pull mouths at Kak; and never doubted his most gorgeous boast.

CHAPTER II
Kak’s Hunting

One morning Kak wakened early and lay staring up at the snow ceiling. It looked mysteriously large and gloomed, for Guninana was saving oil and only a small light flamed in one corner of the large lamp, instead of the broad blaze all along its edge. Faint shadows were cast on the incurved roof by the family clothes hanging about. Kak, watching them, peopled an imaginary world with grotesque, half-human forms. The shadows stayed still but his thoughts danced. He was full of big thoughts these days, and flashing ambitions. The superb elation of his all-night adventure had died down somewhat; house building was no longer tirelessly discussed by everybody; the story sank gradually into neglect, and with it our hero’s importance. This did not suit Kak. Applause had tickled his vanity. Having once tasted the pleasures of fame he longed for them always, and burned to distinguish himself anew.

The worst of it was, in order to thrill the family now he would have to do something grander and nobler and mightier; and after that excitement wore off—if he did achieve it—another still bigger deed must follow, and so on and so forth until he would be an old, old man. Fame and Romance set a terrific pace! Kak felt strangely small and powerless considering this and watching the shadows. His spirits sank.

It was chilly inside and very quiet; nothing stirred outside. Even the dogs must be asleep. Such uncommon silence offered a truly wonderful opportunity for an Eskimo boy to think; but Kak could not stay long on the job. As soon as he noticed the cold he knew what was making him downhearted; and so, jumping out of bed, he pulled on his fur shirt and boots and trousers, and his rough topcoat, and crept into the tunnel. Contrary to his habit he made no noise. Adventure is ever so much more fun when it leads through stealth and secrecy, as all boys know. Besides he did not want to wake Noashak and have her bawling after him.

Once in the open air he commenced swinging his arms vigorously to make his blood run, for dressing without the lamp was hardly pleasant. But soon his body began to glow, and then he jumped on the sleigh and took a look around.

Wow! What a cold gray landscape! The whole world lay flat about him, empty of forms or motion; while above in the sky dome, which looked very much like their roof on a huge scale, instead of shadows the gayly colored northern lights danced and dissolved.

Kak’s spirits shot up like a rocket.

“Hurrah!” he yelled, and instantly stifled the cheer so as not to rouse their dogs.

The beauty of the Arctic dawn was wonderful and had to be expressed. Out there in the open he felt he could achieve. And this was going to be a gorgeous day, a marvelous chance for doing things—but what things? The boy balanced first on one leg and then on the other, trying to decide. He took a turn standing on his hands and viewing the world upside down. This helped, maybe because all the blood rushed into his brain, I don’t know. You will have to try it for yourselves sometime—anyway, when he swung on to his feet again, he had a big idea.

Why should he not go a-hunting all day by himself? If he could catch a seal it would make him a man. How Hitkoak’s eyes would snap with envy, for he had no sons to help provide. Kak’s last exploit, fine as it was, had lacked one notable feature—the joy of dragging the evidence home. A boy cannot carry even a snow house about on his back like a snail, so not one of the girls actually saw his famous building; and just yesterday Noashak had been very saucy about it, suggesting the boasted shelter was only a dug-out in the side of the drift. Now that sort of sisterly slam must be stopped. Kak felt it was up to him.

Urged by this need to do and to dare the boy stole into their tunnel, which is also an Eskimo’s storehouse, and took from its place his father’s harpoon with its stout rope of reindeer sinew, the ivory bodkin used in sealing, a fox skin to keep his feet warm, and extra lengths of thong. The last article showed his good sense.

“I’m a small boy, after all,” he reasoned, “and not nearly so strong as a man; and I’ve seen seals pull pretty hard. I’ll wrap this line around my middle, tie it to the ice pick, and I don’t care if I catch a whale!”

To kill a seal as Kak proposed doing is no easy matter. It takes infinite patience and a whole lot of time. The lad expected to be away hours and hours, so he gathered up some dried meat for his breakfast and lunch; and gave Sapsuk a good feed before starting. Then, rather alarmed by his own boldness, balancing the long harpoon firmly in one hand, and holding the dog leash in the other, he started on his day’s hunt.

Kak knew the seals’ ways: he had often watched his father and the neighbors catch them, and sometimes had been called upon to help. The thrill of his present enterprise lay in doing it all alone. For that he had started early before the family waked, and kept Sapsuk cowed with harsh whispers while he was feeding. No one would know where they had gone or what they were up to, until they came galloping over the ice, bringing the seal behind them.

Kak thought it immense fun to be off for a day with Sapsuk. The dog was a good hunter; just as knowing about seals as Taptuna himself, and absolutely necessary to the game. For since the seals live in the water under the ice, and the ice is covered with several inches and sometimes feet of snow, how could man or boy hope to find their tiny breathing holes scattered about that vast, white plain? It was easy for Sapsuk. He ran with his sharp nose close to the snow and sniffed and sniffed; and as soon as he smelt seal he commenced to run around in circles, scratching and pawing. Then his owner jerked him off quickly, lest he scare the game, and having marked the spot, took doggie away to a safe distance and tethered him on a jag or block of ice.

So that you can thoroughly understand Kak’s horrible predicament later, I want to explain what was going on below the ice as well as what happened above. Seals are not like fish which can live in the sea always. They have to come up into the air every little while to breathe, just as you do after diving and swimming under water. While it is summer, with all the ocean lying open, the seals have an easy time. They can drop down to fish or climb out to sleep in the sun, and enjoy all the best things of life without any trouble about it. But when Jack Frost comes along and begins forming his shining roof over their playgrounds, the poor animals have to look sharp. They must breathe air, and so they must keep holes open to breathe through. At first it is simple. They just dash up below the thin ice and bunt a hole in it with their heads. But Jack keeps on working; the ice grows thicker and is soon too strong to be broken; and then the seal, instead of crashing through in a minute, must gnaw and gnaw for hours, and keep on gnawing to keep his precious hole from freezing over. As the ice thickens it must gnaw all the quicker and all the harder. Sometimes in the middle of winter, the ice freezes six or seven feet thick, and the poor seal is still busy gnawing and gnawing and gnawing.

Though these holes are only the size of a half dollar at the top they must be large below, big enough for the animal’s entire body, so it can swim up and poke its nose to the surface of the ice. The moment the seal sticks his nose up for that long breath is the hunter’s single chance of spearing him, so he has to look sharp.

When Sapsuk had sniffed around in circles, settled his mind on one spot, and raised a paw to dig, Kak grabbed the leash and hauled him off.

“Too bad, old chap, to disappoint you,” he apologized, patting his dog’s thick coat. Sapsuk’s being out of it was the worst part of sealing.

When he had consoled his favorite, Kak hurried back, dug away some of the snow, and feeling about very carefully found the small hole. There he placed his ivory bodkin sticking down through so that the seal would bump its point as he swam up to breathe. Next he cut himself a block of snow to sit on, and spread his fox skin under his feet. The boy took his extra line, wrapped it firmly about his waist, and unfastening the harpoon line from the ice pick on the upper end of the shaft, tied these two thongs fast together. He twisted a couple of turns back around near the pick so that the line would lie smoothly under his hand, and settled patiently to watch his bodkin, very much as you watch the float when you go fishing. There was no loafing or larking for Kak; all the time he held the harpoon in his hand and kept himself alert, ready if the ivory moved to strike down quickly and pierce the animal’s snub nose.

It sounds simple since the seal must come up for air. But seals are clever as well as shy; each animal makes several breathing holes, and a boy can watch only one; so if Sapsuk happened to find a place which the seal had just left, Kak would be obliged to watch hours before its owner returned.

After catching his prize, the hunter holds on to his thong till he cuts away the ice around the hole with his copper chisel and makes it large enough to drag his victim out. This is the thrilling part. This is what Kak counted on. Sitting all day long, watching, proved his mettle. The boy was no quitter, but he had remained two hours in one place and one position, and was terribly bored and aching for a run—a bit of a change—excuse to move about.

“It’s yell or bust!” he muttered.

Feeling hungry he laid the harpoon down for a moment and got out his package of dried meat. With this open on the ground beside him, he lunched, snatching one hand away from duty long enough to put a piece into his mouth, then taking firm hold again. While he ate he planned deserting for a little game with Sapsuk. The more he thought of it, the better a game seemed. Unconsciously he glanced toward his dog, and at that moment the ivory pin began to tremble, its motion caused by ripples in the water as a seal swam up. This was the hunter’s warning—but his wits were elsewhere. He had almost decided to quit and play when the bodkin suddenly jerked. Amid that world of tense inaction its bob crashed like a trumpet call. Kak’s mind leaped. He dashed down the spear with all his force. The thrill of it gave him twice his usual strength and he struck as truly and a good deal harder than his father or Hitkoak would have done. It is the sure aim and not the muscle which counts. He knew at once he had hit his seal for he felt the knife sink into its flesh.

The startled animal pulled back, pulling the loose tip off the harpoon. Instantly Kak reversed the shaft and drove the pick deep into the ice. As the thong was around this, though not tied, it formed a sort of anchor; and with it and the loop on his body the boy imagined himself master of any situation. He seized the braided sinew as he had seen Taptuna do, but it simply tore through his fingers. He could no more hold against that terrific pull than turn a blizzard with his breath. He yelled for help. Sapsuk’s was the only answering voice. Cold perspiration bathed him. He was in an agony of excitement. The beast would get away, such force must certainly snap the line. He would lose his prize and with it his father’s best harpoon head. In a spasm Kak saw his grand adventure ending in dire disgrace. To return home empty-handed, having to confess he had been unable to hold his seal—it was unthinkable! Spurred by the threatened shame he clutched madly, but the throng whizzed away from him, faster than it takes to tell, and snapped taut its length to the pick. It is impossible to get a good grip on a thin tight line; Kak, undefeated, grabbed the harpoon shaft and held on like fury.

There was an instant’s lull below. The young hunter drew a deep breath and braced himself.

“Wolloping fishes! Who’d think a seal could pull so hard!”

Our boy’s respect for his father and the men whom he saw landing their catches right along had grown some.

“Golly!”

The thing came alive again with a twist and a plunge. It yanked like a hundred dog-team. The sudden pull on the thong acted as a giant catapult, whirled the pick out of the ice, the shaft from Kak’s hands, and sent them flying. The hunter fell forward, recovered, surged to his knees, saw his extra line a writhing serpent slip along the ice and tried to catch it—vainly. A second later, with a sharp zip the rope reached its limit and tightened about his waist like a vise, cutting his flesh through two coats, jerking him violently on to his face.

A wail of pain and dismay rang through the clear air. Sapsuk answered with howls and barks. Kak felt like howling in chorus as he realized how he was caught. All his strength on the line failed to ease its pressure. And when the maddened animal dived the squeezing made him gasp.

The boy knew now this was no ordinary catch. It must be an ugrug, one of the huge bearded seals, almost as big and powerful as a bear; the knowledge gave him alternate thrills of delight and terror. He was torn between pride over spearing an ugrug, with insane desire to do the impossible and land the critter; and a mortal fear lest it should cut him in two. Wildly he tugged at the thong with an idea of loosening it sufficiently to squirm free. Let the monster take harpoon and all. Taptuna would forgive the loss when he heard how narrowly his son had escaped death. So Kak thought while the beast pulled; but when the pain eased a little, ambition soared. The youthful hunter pictured his reception if he strode home with the story of killing a bearded seal. At first they would laugh and cry shame on him for telling whoppers; then marvel open-mouthed, and finally believe when he proudly led his father forth and showed the prize.

For such a triumph Kak felt he would willingly give his life. At least he felt so while the ugrug rested; when the brute plunged again he bellowed:

“Help! Help!”

Foxes! How the thong cut. Incessantly the ugrug dived back and flung about, trying to twist that horrible spear out of his nose; and up on top of the snow each movement sawed and sawed poor Kak’s soft tummy. The seal had him flat on his face now dragged right across the hole, powerless, exhausted. He could not even lift his head high enough to see over the rough ice. So long as that stout leather line held, Kak was the ugrug’s prisoner; just as much a prisoner as if he had been shut within four walls.

Our hero was gifted with what we call presence of mind. As his father had said: “The boy’s got sense.” Even in this dreadful plight he did not lose his head and cry, or give up hope; but exercised his nimble wits considering how he could best help himself.

The sun was coming up, struggling against a fog; if it would only shine out and warm his back Kak reckoned to withstand the cold, in spite of that horrid thong lashing him to the icy floor under its snow blanket.

He knew the family had slept till after daylight and when they woke and saw his place empty they would think he had only gone a short way and not bother till after breakfast. If his father missed the harpoon he would guess their plan and be in no hurry to follow, since squatting by a seal hole is a comparatively safe way to be lost. When he did start to find them it was going to take him a long time, because the boy and dog had made play of their hunting and run all around on the wide field. The snow was exceptionally hard, wind-driven, so their footprints would only show in drifted patches with gaps some of them maybe a quarter of a mile wide. You can understand that between criss-crossed tracks and no tracks and a thickening fog Taptuna’s game of hare and hound would not be easy.

Lying as he did, flat on his face, the boy could not do much to draw attention. The idea of his father passing and neither of them knowing it worried him, till with sudden joy he recollected Sapsuk. The dog made a bold, dark mark. There was a good chance of Taptuna seeing Sapsuk if he came near at all. Hitkoak, too, would probably be hunting. With eyes riveted on his bodkin Kak had not noticed what was happening behind him. Their neighbor might be sitting close by. At the thought he tried to shout, but the snow muffled his voice; only his faithful pup heard and barked reply. That sound filled Kak with hope.

“Good dog! Good dog!” he cried. “Keep it up, old boy!”

“Yap—yap—yap!”

“Come on, old fellow. Come on!”

Thus urged the tethered canine pranced and yelped, straining at his leash, while Kak’s heart glowed. Barking would carry far through the still air; and on the hunting ground such a racket could only mean trouble.

“Go it, old fellow!” he wheezed, almost smothered by snow.

But all at once Sapsuk decided his master was only playing pranks on him, and lay down sulking.

“Good old doggie, good boy.”

He would not answer even to Kak’s most wheedling tone; perhaps he did not hear.

The prisoner worked one arm loose and threw chunks of snow blindly in the dog’s direction. No use! He could not hit him, and it was an old game anyway. Then Kak had an inspiration. The remains of his lunch lay open on the ground. He fumbled for a piece of meat, held it up and waved it as teasingly as he could. Sapsuk understood that—wanted it. Continuous barking followed.

“Wof—wof—whooooooooof!”

The pup thought his master a pretty mean fellow not to toss him that one bite, and the boy’s arm ached. Still, their alarm rang out.

The sun was about at its highest Kak judged, but obscured by fog. He seemed to be growing colder and colder and more and more cramped. The ugrug had been having the best of it for a long time. Nevertheless the pain in his nose and the blood he had lost through the wound were beginning to wear him out. He did not struggle so constantly, nor pull so hard, nor plunge so deep at the end of the third hour, and often lay quite still; but by then Kak felt too numb to move. He knew the fog had lifted and could hear Sapsuk making that dismal noise which eventually caught Taptuna’s ear and brought him on the run. Once freed the dog dashed for his young master, while the Eskimo followed, not knowing what to expect.

It was a shock to see the boy stretched on his face so stiff and lifeless. Taptuna could only believe Kak had fallen and broken a leg—and frozen, perhaps, later. Trembling he sighed the boy’s name.

“Dad,” murmured Kak.

“He lives!”

With a great shout the man leaped into the air clapping his hands; Kak interrupted these transports of joy.

“Dad—he’s got me.”

“Got you? What does this mean—does the boy rave, is he in a trance?”

But there was nothing spooky or unreal about Kak’s pride. “The ugrug,” he said in an elated whisper, “round my waist.”

Taptuna saw the thong then, thrust his arm under his son’s body and pulled hard. For a second the huge seal, taken by surprise, allowed himself to go with the pull. Sharp pain in his nose reminded him of danger and set him battling again; but that moment’s delay was enough for Taptuna to slack the noose and free Kak.

The boy rolled over on the snow with a sobbing intake of breath; he rose to his knees.

“Pull, kid!” yelled his father, who needed no explanation once he had felt the monster plunge.

His voice squealed with desire to land this great prize, and Kak, thrilled afresh, sprang into the fight. Of course the ugrug knew he was beaten with a man’s hand on the line. His wound was very swollen and sore, and hurt like anything when they twitched it. He gave a wollop or two toward liberty, and bluffed at being almighty powerful, but little by little he had to surrender and follow his nose up into the hole.

Kak and Taptuna were already cautiously chopping the ice away at the surface. Slowly the bearded monster rose below them. As the ugrug came into the narrowest part of the hole it had no room to fight and its struggles ceased. The leather line held. Frantically Kak chopped and chopped with the stout copper ice chisel. The great bulk of the seal’s body rose, slithered, rose again; their hands were almost on it. The boy’s heart fluttered as he saw that gigantic creature which he had fought and won.

“Alone, my lad—alone! For it was practically over when I came. I have only helped you land him,” Taptuna generously acknowledged when at last, with wild heaving and grunting and groaning, the slippery beast was drawn out and lay an inert mass at their feet.

Kak’s nerves played him false then. He fell down on top of the seal and cried like Noashak.

“Tut, tut,” said his father, patting him on the back. “You’re cold and tired and hungry—but you’re a man, Kak. You’ve got grit. Hanging on to an ugrug!”

“I couldn’t get away. I’d have let him go if he would have let me go. I was afraid he’d pull me right through the ice,” blubbered Kak.

Taptuna laughed. “He wasn’t strong enough for that, boy. A dozen of him couldn’t do it—but you might have cut the thong.”

“I—I never thought of it!” confessed the brave hunter, feeling no end of a billy goat. “We would have lost the harpoon,” he added, as a sort of excuse for sticking it out.

His father chuckled. He wondered how long the hero would look shamefaced after he met the girls and Guninana.

But before they turned homeward with the story and its proof Kak was to experience his crowning moment. When a hunter kills a bearded seal it is the custom for him to stand up and signal to all the other hunters within sight that they may come and share his prize. The boy was busy loosing Sapsuk from the carcass when his father said:

“You have forgotten something.”

Kak had only once seen an ugrug caught. He looked questioningly at Taptuna.

“There is Hitkoak yonder. He has just settled down to watch his hole. He has not caught anything to-day.”

The Eskimo pointed southward, and then Kak flushed to his ears. “You, father,” he stammered.

“Not a bit of it! You got him.”

The seal killer hesitated a moment, stepped on to his ugrug the better to be seen, and extending his arms at right angles waved the news of his wonderful catch. Hitkoak, far away, looked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Surely that short figure could be no other than Kak. What? Kak giving the signal for a bearded seal!

Hitkoak gathered up spear and bodkin and commenced to run.

Oh, the happy thrill of it as their neighbor gazed on the monster and heard Kak’s tale; and the thrill when they arrived home, men and dogs dragging the seal. Guninana’s wild laughter, the girls’ bulging eyes, and Noashak’s awe, were all items to be noted and remembered, and gloated over, and told and retold all his life long till Kak should be an old, old man. Hitkoak’s wife, who was fat and lazy, came waddling over to hear the story. She clapped soft hands, smiling at the big supply of blubber; and they all took turns patting Kak’s shoulders and asking him innumerable questions. Then they had a feast. Guninana made blood soup for a second course at dinner. The boy liked it exceedingly and drank a great deal, partly to hide his embarrassment, for they all kept on exclaiming and telling him he was the bravest son imaginable. Such unstinted praise nearly turned his head.

They all sat in a circle talking, admiring, marveling. The lamp shone brightly; the house grew hotter and hotter; Kak’s ears burned with glory and bashfulness. He had pulled off his fur shirt on coming inside, according to Eskimo custom, and the red mark where that cruel thong had bound his body stood out like a ribbon of honor.

“It is my son who is the hero,” chuckled Guninana, gently touching the scar with her plump fingers. “But half grown—and he has already slain his ugrug. The little man!”

Kak did not care much about that little man business. It made him look like a baby. Moreover, his mother was shedding tears of pride and happiness down his back as she gazed at Hitkoak’s wife, who had no son. Very quietly he moved around beside his father.

He thought they would never have done with their questions. Honor had thrilled him at first but now he felt sleepy. He was weary of praise—the worst weariness in the world—and terribly tired. The sandman and the warm soup worked together, undermining his dignity. The boyish head nodded. He straightened up blinking fiercely once—twice. No, it was no use. Kak felt more tired than he had ever felt before—just exhausted. Suddenly he gave up, and right in the middle of Hitkoak’s song toppled over fast asleep.

Taptuna made room for him to lie, Guninana drew up a fur blanket, and the excited company continued praising him far into the night, their words of wonder and admiration mingling with our hero’s gentle snores.

CHAPTER III
Strangers

It is an unfortunate fact that we can gain nothing in this world without having to make some return. Kak paid the price of his glory in killing the ugrug when it came time to fill the family larder and the lamp. He was now expected to lend a hand in all hunting expeditions. Not that they needed more seals than Taptuna had always provided; but with the boy along to guard a second hole the Eskimo could set a double trap for his hidden victim, and sometimes save hours of watchful waiting on the wind-swept ice.

Kak no longer felt enthusiastic about the hunt. He had done his noblest—had landed on the tiptop of achievement at one bound, and lesser triumphs rather bored him. Hauling in the little fellows seemed tame. He maintained a lofty attitude toward hunting in general and small seals in particular. But of course he went with Taptuna. Kak was above all things an ambitious boy, eager to be a man; and a real man’s first concern is to hold up his end in duty as well as pleasure. So off they would trudge together, father and son, shoulder to shoulder, with one of the dogs trotting in front; search out their holes and squat on the ice, a little way apart yet companionable in the silence, till one or other of them saw his bodkin pop up, and speared his seal. Then they would get together to land it, and the day’s work was done.

This was in the morning of the year. You know in Kak’s country, not only the days divide themselves into light and darkness, but the whole year also. Spring and summer are light, autumn darkens, and Christmas comes in a continual twilight. Kak liked the autumn and winter best. To be sure, summer is cheerful. The sun never setting means daylight goes on all the time, and daylight activities with it. Nobody keeps any sort of regular hours. You sleep when you feel sleepy and eat whenever food is set before you; and it is all rather fun. But it grows terribly hot with the sun blazing over your head hour after hour for weeks. Kak often felt very uncomfortable even in a single old fur shirt; and if he took it off the pesky cloud of mosquitoes made life unbearable. Traveling without sleds over the rough ground was exceedingly difficult, too. So on the whole, he cared most for what we might call the evening, when the sun hid itself below the horizon, and the days were equal with the nights; when water froze and the snow fell gently, and hunting grew more agreeable. Next, he liked the period of moon and stars, or winter. Then the family settled into a comfortable snow house somewhere on the shore ice. Having eaten their stores of dried meat and oil during the fall, they were obliged to spear seals; but they did very little other work, and spent most of their time sitting about the lamp snug and warm, telling stories and singing songs.

One day in the morning of the year with the sun well up, Kak and his father went seal hunting. There were other hunters distant on the ice, for by now several families had joined Taptuna and Hitkoak. Luck continued poor. They had been sitting on snow blocks ever so long, the boy almost falling asleep from boredom, when he chanced to look in his daddy’s direction, and was turned to stone by what he saw. Beyond those hunched shoulders, not so very far away, three men with a laden sled and many dogs were approaching rapidly.

Kak knew them for strangers at once. Their clothes were quite unlike the clothes worn by his own people; nor were their dogs harnessed each to a separate trace and spread fanlike, but one in front of the other—an imposing string of more than six animals. He had never dreamed anybody would drive more than three dogs on one sled. The novel magnificence of it all took his breath.

Fear and expectation leaped in the boy’s heart. Every Eskimo believes there are bad Eskimos belonging to other tribes who are out to do him no good; if these were bad Eskimos there would be a fight—a glorious row with the odds all against them! Kak’s blood pounded in his veins, for he saw another chance of distinguishing himself. Then he began to consider those odds: a man and a boy and Sapsuk against three grown men and ever so many dogs, and these strangers looked big husky fellows. His knees knocked queerly. It would be worse than an ugrug or even a bear—men are wickeder than beasts and cleverer—and if they took his father by surprise.... No, no! That would never do. Kak understood he must warn Taptuna; but he did not want to let the enemy know he intended doing so lest they make a dash and get in first.

Plucking his bodkin from the hole the boy commenced to work around cautiously in his father’s direction; as he drew nearer, where he could see the other’s face, he suddenly knew that Taptuna was already watching the three men out on the ice; though he sat perfectly still and pretended to be minding his own business. You see, Kak’s father thought much more gravely of those odds against them and wanted to avoid any chance of a quarrel; so he lay low—played ’possum till the party should arrive. If they came peacefully, well and good; if they showed fight—he was prepared. He darted a glance at Kak revealing this plan, commanding him to be silent; and the lad froze where he stood.

The strangers came on rapidly, stopped at a distance, looked long at Taptuna, and bunched together for consultation; arguing, pointing at the hunters, gesticulating excitedly. After a while one of the three walked forward alone.

The Eskimo stayed hunched over his fishing just like a rock on the ice. Kak could see he was watching out of the corners of his eyes, and holding himself ready. The boy smiled, for he knew his father a desperate, clever fighter, equal to any man single-handed.

On came the foreigner in his foreign clothes, walking confidently, swaggering boldly, offering no peace sign nor suggestion of any such thing. He acted as if he owned the earth. But when he was yet five paces away Taptuna sprang lightly to his feet, and seizing his long knife, flung himself into defensive position, while Sapsuk burst out with loud barks:

“Wow—woof—wow!”

TAPTUNA FLUNG HIMSELF INTO DEFENSIVE POSITION.

The other dogs answered in half a dozen keys: “Yi—wow—yip—yap!”

The stranger stopped suddenly. All his cocksureness oozed away. His eyes stood out of his head and his breath came fast. Seeing the hunter brandishing his knife and ready to spring made the traveler shake all over. He looked more and more scared; he wanted to run back to his friends, and began to talk very fast and very loudly. For this fellow was an Eskimo also and quite as afraid of bad Eskimos as Kak’s own people. Both men were terribly frightened. Taptuna started making noises with his mouth; he thought this stranger might be a kind of ghost or spirit that would bring trouble upon him unless he shooed the trouble away by such noises. And the stranger thought Taptuna meant to kill him, and hurried to explain, shouting his harmless intentions. So they both kept on jabbering, and frightening each other more and more, making talking sounds which neither one understood. Kak hugged himself, thrilled to the backbone, and scolded Sapsuk; and Sapsuk barked and barked; and the big fat seal that was knocking its nose on Taptuna’s bodkin took alarm at the terrific row, and scooted back into the deep ocean and so got clean away. But nobody had noticed his sign of life, or knew he was there, and so nobody minded.

By and by, through all the racket and commotion, it dawned on Taptuna that the visitor was not a spirit but a real, live man who was talking to him in real, human speech having understandable words sprinkled through it. So he listened hard and presently made out the three strangers were sight-seers who had come from a far land and meant no harm to any one; and if they had omitted the peace sign it was only because, not having been that way before, they were ignorant of the customs. Then the traveler lifted his coat to show he had no knife, and Kak watched his father feel him all over to make sure of it.

When Taptuna showed he was satisfied the boy laughed aloud and dashed forward, wild excitement dancing in his eyes, and a hundred questions tumbling off his tongue.

“Where are you going? Where have you come from? What are you called? Oh, do, do tell us!”

He thought this miles better than a fight. Now they could all talk. He wanted to know about their far-away home. He wanted to hear it in a single word. But Taptuna threw cold water over such enthusiasm. Eskimos do not consider it polite to harry a stranger with questions. Kak’s father cried:

“Tut! Be off to your mother and say we have guests coming for dinner.”

At that Kak, rather ashamed of his bad manners, went racing away to carry his message. He was not afraid to leave Taptuna, for already the hunters of the village, whose attention had been attracted by all the noise, were running in from every side. Kak, romping on with Sapsuk, madly yelled the news to those he met and they hurried up, knowing this a great occasion. The stranger was escorted toward the group of houses on the ice, the other men being allowed to follow with their dogs and sleigh, but not to come any nearer, because Taptuna would not take the responsibility of receiving these travelers without first consulting his neighbors. As each seal hunter, carrying his sharp knife and spear, joined the party, the stranger looked more and more scared. He could understand much of their speech though, and began to feel better when he heard himself and his friends spoken of as honest fellows who might be welcomed without fear of treachery.

Think what a tremendous event it was for these lonely folk in their few small houses, in the midst of that vast, deserted snow field, to receive a visit from a distinguished foreigner; for that is what the leader of the party turned out to be. Two of the travelers were Eskimos from far west on the north shore of Canada; and the other was a white man who had come all the way from New York to learn what sort of people lived on the tiptop of the world, and who had studied their language so he could talk with them and really be friends.

Kak had never seen a white man, but he had heard of them from other tribes of Eskimos—Kablunat they were called. He did not think this visitor deserved the name, for he was really not white at all, but very much his own complexion, with blue eyes instead of gray, and the same brownish hair. The lad was intensely disappointed. He had always imagined a race of people glistening and shining like frosty snow; and the grown-up folk felt very much the same. Hitkoak made him stand beside this so-called “white man” to show how alike they were; and Guninana laughed at her squat boy, for in his fur clothes Kak looked about as broad as he was long.

“You have the eyes and hair, son; but you will have to grow like a young caribou before you can cut any figure in his country.”

Ah, if she had known what a spur to Kak’s ambition those words were to prove! “Cut a figure in his country!” He would never have thought of such a thing himself; but from the moment his mother’s idle humor planted the seed, that idea lay hidden in the bottom, inmost part, of the boy’s soul. He would attach himself to this Kabluna, would make himself useful, run messages, travel with him, hunt for him; and perhaps, when they went away over the edge of the earth again, he might be permitted to go along. Of course this scheme did not prance right into his mind whole, it grew and developed during the stranger’s stay.

For a while everybody was busy admiring their guests and getting acquainted.

The Kabluna wore fine fur clothes and carried under his arm a peculiar, long implement made partly of wood and partly of metal. Kak was simply dying to ask about this, to handle and examine it, only he would not let himself go, because his father had already reproved him for questioning.

“Is it a spear?” he thought, peeping behind the stranger. “No—it can’t be. There is no least sign of a knife.”

He ached to understand the odd thing, but had to wait, for now Hitkoak’s wife and the girls came running to be presented to the visitors, and the whole community stood about, all talking at once, with a deafening hubbub and babble and noise of barking dogs. Noashak, who I have told you was a rude, spoiled, forward little girl, threw herself on the strangers one after another; jumping up to touch their faces, getting under their feet, clinging to their hands, and mauling their clothes. They only laughed good-naturedly, which pleased Guninana and sent her hurrying off to put her largest cooking pot over the lamp.

Hitkoak had invited one of the two Eskimos to stop in his house, the other went elsewhere, while Taptuna entertained the white man. This arrangement gave Kak much secret satisfaction, he was so thrilled by desire to handle that long-nosed weapon.

“When the Kabluna enters to eat he will put it on one side in the tunnel, and that will be my chance,” the boy reasoned. But there was no chance, for the stranger carefully placed his gun in a special case strapped to one side of the sled, and covered it up closely; and nobody, except perhaps naughty Noashak, would have dared to think of opening that case.

Kak’s heart sank into his boots. It took his sister’s diverting cries of: “A feast! A feast! Blood soup!” to cheer him up.

“Blood soup—wow!”

Maybe that does not sound good to you, but Eskimos love it, and Guninana could make the delicacy just right. Lips smacked, eyes brightened, Taptuna and Kak hurried their guest inside; and almost before he was clear of the tunnel Noashak hurled herself on him. Now the Kabluna had come to live with them she claimed him for her own; scrambled on to his knee, felt his bushy hair, tried to tickle him, and pried out of his fingers a little box he had taken from among his things on the sled when he put the gun away; such a curious little box, full of many little straight pieces of wood, with red ends stuck on to them like tiny bits of rock. Noashak was delighted. She opened the box upside down and all the pieces fell out over the rug.

“Now, now! Leave our visitor in peace!” her father cried; and Guninana, squatting in front of her lamp, scolded mildly.

But Noashak only laughed. She knew she might safely be as naughty as she liked, for her parents never punished her. That is probably why she was so very awful and a plague to everybody.

In our country when a boy is really mischievous and bad his father or mother or schoolmaster or somebody gets after him and gives him a first-class, good whipping to drive the badness out. Unfortunately Eskimos believe if they whip their children, or punish them at all, they will drive not badness but goodness away from them—a sort of guardian angel who brings the children luck and blessings. Of course if either boy or girl is naughty enough to need to be whipped, it is quite fair for the angel to pick up and go off; but the parents naturally do not want this to happen, so they try to bluff the spirit by not punishing at all. No matter how bad Noashak was, she never got a whipping—but oh, how the neighbors hated her at times!

Even the Kabluna thought her a bother when he saw all his matches spilled on the rug. He began to gather them together carefully, for there are no shops in Victoria Island where one can buy such things, and it is very awkward to run out of matches when traveling in an ice-cold country. Two articles the white man valued more than anything else—the ammunition for his gun and his matches. However, since he was a stranger, far away from home, and her father’s guest, and had come so many miles to see these people, and wanted above all things to be friends with them, he did not say one cross word nor even frown; but took up a single little piece of wood, struck its rock end, and held the fire out to Noashak. Now when the child saw this magic and felt the hot flame she leaped away, hiding behind Taptuna, and would not come near the visitor again; though the others crowded around full of wonder. They had never seen a sulphur match.

The Kabluna lighted another and another, explaining their convenience, and finally allowed Kak to strike one and hold it blazing in his own fingers. Thus encouraged, the boy blurted out his eager question:

“That queer weapon you carried under your arm—what is it for?”

The white man smiled. “You mean my rifle?”

Kak never having heard the foreign word, rifle, looked puzzled. “The thing with a long nose,” he explained. “The one you packed away on the sled.”

“Yes,” the Kabluna answered, while his kind blue eyes held Kak’s. “We call it a rifle—it is for hunting. To-morrow I will show you how it kills animals from a great distance.”

The boy beamed. He liked this stranger; and the stranger liked him. He had spotted Kak as a bright youngster during the first half hour, and was willing to take some trouble and tell him stories of the far-away country, wording them simply so they could be understood. Our everyday life and surroundings are so strange to the Eskimos they could not possibly conceive them from just hearing the names spoken. If you had never seen a wheel you would find it difficult to think of a great, puffing, railroad engine. These people had never seen wheels nor any means of going about but the dog-drawn sleds, skin boats called kayaks, and their own legs; so the white man did not talk about street cars or telephones or automobiles, but described our homes built up and up, one room on top of another, till they were six rooms high, and twice six rooms high, occasionally even six times six rooms high. These Eskimos cannot count above six, so this was his only way of conveying an idea about the height of our tall buildings.

Kak worked it out next morning with snow blocks.

“Six times six rooms high!” he marveled, gazing at the pile.

It seemed unbelievable. Why should anybody want to build up into the air that way with all the open ground to spread on? He looked over his flat, white world, stretching bare and vast north, east, south, and west, and muttered: “Unbelievable!”

Kak had heard many stories of their shamans, or medicine-men, going to sleep and visiting the moon in their sleep, and seeing things quite as extraordinary as houses six times six rooms high. None of these, however, had fired him with a desire to follow. Now he tried to imagine climbing up the outside of such a house to the very top, pinching himself all the way to be sure he was awake. The notion made him chuckle, but not loud enough to interrupt. He intended to be very polite and hear more and more. So he sat quiet listening with his mouth a little open and his eyes wide and round; and at the end of each tale, while the others cried their amazement, he nodded, saying in his heart:

“Some day I will travel to the Kabluna’s country and see these marvels for myself.”

They sat late over breakfast next morning listening to more queer talk, till at last their neighbor roused them calling in the tunnel:

“I am Hitkoak. I am coming in.”

This is the polite way for an Eskimo to announce his visit.

The other two strangers were already outside feeding the dogs and waiting for their chief’s word as to what they were to do that day. They called the Kabluna, Omialik, which really means Commander; but Eastern Eskimos have no conception of one man being master over another or employing him for wages. Such conditions do not exist among them. So hearing this title they took it for his name, and all addressed him by it.

Hitkoak had discovered from his guest how anxious the explorer was to meet with natives, and so he had formed the brilliant idea of escorting the party to the nearest village which, he said, ought now to lie about a day’s journey away on the shore of Victoria Island. Eskimos are never quite sure where their towns are to be found, for even the places have a way of packing up and moving off. When comfortable houses can be built in a couple of hours, and each householder can carry all his belongings on one sled, it is easiest, if the fishing or hunting proves bad, just to move the whole village over to another site. Generally so many sleighs moving make a very deep track which will not be covered even by storms and blizzards for about three months, so that if at first you do not find the place you want to reach, you follow on and follow on until you overtake it.

Omialik was immensely pleased with the idea of visiting a local town; and instantly everybody wanted to go. Kak wanted to go. He itched to go; but he did not clamor about it half so loudly as the girls. Hitkoak put his foot down, saying it would never do for them all to flock over; for so many women and children and dogs landing in to be fed might embarrass their kinsmen; so after a hubbub of talk it was decided that Taptuna, whose brother lived in the neighboring village, and who had been there recently, should act as guide. Guninana was much better able to take care of herself than the other women, and she had more food laid by also.

Kak listened with his whole soul to the ins and outs of this argument; and when it was finished he literally threw himself on his father.

“Let me go! Let me go, too! I must go—I can hunt, I can walk, I can build houses. Oh, dad, do, do let me go with you!”

“And who will take care of your mother?”

“Noashak!” the boy cried fiercely, saying the first thing that rushed into his head.

That was a fine joke. They all laughed heartily. Now sometimes it is a good sign to have one’s request laughed at, for it puts grown-ups into a jolly humor; and again it is very bad, and means the thing is not even to be considered seriously. Kak hardly knew what to make of his parents’ amusement. He looked doubtfully from one to the other, and at last turned beseeching eyes on the Kabluna.

“If the boy can be spared, let him come,” said Omialik, and made Kak his friend for life.

Taptuna’s glance questioned his wife.

“Yes, yes, certainly, let our brave hero go! Noashak will take care of me very well.” Guninana’s sides shook with uncontrolled mirth. “I want to hear all that happens up yonder anyway, and the lad’s stories will be better than yours, Taptuna.”

So it was agreed. Kak could not stay indoors with the excitement of his great adventure surging in his veins; he had to go out and tear up and down, and yell, and let off steam generally.

Besides the glory and honor of arriving at the village in such distinguished company, he would see his cousin, Akpek, who was his own age and his best chum, and to whom he had long wanted to boast about killing that ugrug. Kak knew Taptuna could not resist telling of his son’s house-building and hunting to Uncle Kitirkolak; and he anticipated the relations would all make a big fuss over him when they heard the news. Akpek would have to pay him a lot of respect.

They were not to start until next morning for the strangers, both men and dogs, needed a good rest; and Kak thought he would never be able to put in the time; however, this turned out to be one of the most thrilling days of his life. Omialik did not forget his promise about the rifle. He took the weapon from its case and allowed Kak to examine it closely; hold it in his own hands; place it at his shoulder and look, as directed, down the long nose. The boy could not at all understand how it worked so their guest showed him. There being no wild animals about he set up a stick, walked far away, raised the gun, and sent a bullet through the wood from where he stood. The Eskimos were not greatly impressed for they thought it magic. Their own shamans told them constantly of strong spells which would kill animals unseen, and carry people to the moon, and so forth. What really excited everybody was the tremendous bang the gun made when it went off. Hitkoak’s wife and the girls were so frightened they ran into their own house and would not come out; and Noashak howled at the top of her lungs and kept on howling till poor Guninana, who was pretty well scared herself, begged the kind Kabluna not to do it again.

He did do it again though, just once more, to satisfy Kak. And when Kak learned it was not magic, and saw the small piece of metal which flew out of the rifle straight to its mark, he was crazy to try it himself.

“Oh, let me, let me, let me!” he teased, dancing up and down in a frenzy of desire. “I only want to whang it off once—I’m sure I can hit the stick.”

The white man shook his head. “No you can’t, not at the first trial—no one ever does. The fact is,” he explained, “I can only shoot this gun off a certain number of times until I get back to my own country, because I have only a certain number of bullets. We may need them all to kill animals for food, so I dare not waste any more.”

“Can they bang? Can they make holes in the stick?” Kak asked, pointing to the strange Eskimos.

“Yes, sometimes. The little fellow shoots pretty well.”

“If he learned, I can learn!”