Makamuk came to his feet.  A long face-scar lifted his upper lip into a perpetual grin which belied the glowing ferocity of his eyes.  “This day,” he began with cunning irrelevance, “I came by the Trader Macklewrath’s cabin.  And in the door I saw a child laughing at the sun.  And the child looked at me with the Trader Macklewrath’s eyes, and it was frightened.  The mother ran to it and quieted it.  The mother was Ziska, the Thlunget woman.”

A snarl of rage rose up and drowned his voice, which he stilled by turning dramatically upon Keesh with outstretched arm and accusing finger.

“So?  You give your women away, you Thlunget, and come to the Tana-naw for more?  But we have need of our women, Keesh; for we must breed men, many men, against the day when the Raven grapples with the Wolf.”

Through the storm of applause, Gnob’s voice shrilled clear.  “And thou, Nossabok, who art her favorite brother?”

The young fellow was slender and graceful, with the strong aquiline nose and high brows of his type; but from some nervous affliction the lid of one eye drooped at odd times in a suggestive wink.  Even as he arose it so drooped and rested a moment against his cheek.  But it was not greeted with the accustomed laughter.  Every face was grave.  “I, too, passed by the Trader Macklewrath’s cabin,” he rippled in soft, girlish tones, wherein there was much of youth and much of his sister.  “And I saw Indians with the sweat running into their eyes and their knees shaking with weariness—­I say, I saw Indians groaning under the logs for the store which the Trader Macklewrath is to build.  And with my eyes I saw them chopping wood to keep the Shaman Brown’s Big House warm through the frost of the long nights.  This be squaw work.  Never shall the Tana-naw do the like.  We shall be blood brothers to men, not squaws; and the Thlunget be squaws.”

A deep silence fell, and all eyes centred on Keesh.  He looked about him carefully, deliberately, full into the face of each grown man.  “So,” he said passionlessly.  And “So,” he repeated.  Then turned on his heel without further word and passed out into the darkness.

Wading among sprawling babies and bristling wolf-dogs, he threaded the great camp, and on its outskirts came upon a woman at work by the light of a fire.  With strings of bark stripped from the long roots of creeping vines, she was braiding rope for the Fishing.  For some time, without speech, he watched her deft hands bringing law and order out of the unruly mass of curling fibres.  She was good to look upon, swaying there to her task, strong-limbed, deep-chested, and with hips made for motherhood.  And the bronze of her face was golden in the flickering light, her hair blue-black, her eyes jet.

“O Su-Su,” he spoke finally, “thou hast looked upon me kindly in the days that have gone and in the days yet young—­”

“I looked kindly upon thee for that thou wert chief of the Thlunget,” she answered quickly, “and because thou wert big and strong.”