“We will hear his talk which is like that of a child,” said the square-browed man.  “And we will hear it, word for word, as he speaks it.  Do you understand?”

Howkan understood, and Imber’s eyes flashed, for he had witnessed the play between his sister’s son and the man in authority.  And then began the story, the epic of a bronze patriot which might well itself be wrought into bronze for the generations unborn.  The crowd fell strangely silent, and the square-browed judge leaned head on hand and pondered his soul and the soul of his race.  Only was heard the deep tones of Imber, rhythmically alternating with the shrill voice of the interpreter, and now and again, like the bell of the Lord, the wondering and meditative “Hell” of the red-haired man.

“I am Imber of the Whitefish people.”  So ran the interpretation of Howkan, whose inherent barbarism gripped hold of him, and who lost his mission culture and veneered civilization as he caught the savage ring and rhythm of old Imber’s tale.  “My father was Otsbaok, a strong man.  The land was warm with sunshine and gladness when I was a boy.  The people did not hunger after strange things, nor hearken to new voices, and the ways of their fathers were their ways.  The women found favor in the eyes of the young men, and the young men looked upon them with content.  Babes hung at the breasts of the women, and they were heavy-hipped with increase of the tribe.  Men were men in those days.  In peace and plenty, and in war and famine, they were men.

“At that time there was more fish in the water than now, and more meat in the forest.  Our dogs were wolves, warm with thick hides and hard to the frost and storm.  And as with our dogs so with us, for we were likewise hard to the frost and storm.  And when the Pellys came into our land we slew them and were slain.  For we were men, we Whitefish, and our fathers and our fathers’ fathers had fought against the Pellys and determined the bounds of the land.

“As I say, with our dogs, so with us.  And one day came the first white man.  He dragged himself, so, on hand and knee, in the snow.  And his skin was stretched tight, and his bones were sharp beneath.  Never was such a man, we thought, and we wondered of what strange tribe he was, and of its land.  And he was weak, most weak, like a little child, so that we gave him a place by the fire, and warm furs to lie upon, and we gave him food as little children are given food.

“And with him was a dog, large as three of our dogs, and very weak.  The hair of this dog was short, and not warm, and the tail was frozen so that the end fell off.  And this strange dog we fed, and bedded by the fire, and fought from it our dogs, which else would have killed him.  And what of the moose meat and the sun-dried salmon, the man and dog took strength to themselves; and what of the strength they became big and unafraid.  And the man spoke loud words and laughed at the old men and young men, and looked boldly upon the maidens.  And the dog fought with our dogs, and for all of his short hair and softness slew three of them in one day.