Early next morning, however, Keesh strode into the village.  But he came not shamefacedly.  Across his shoulders he bore a burden of fresh-killed meat.  And there was importance in his step and arrogance in his speech.

“Go, ye men, with the dogs and sledges, and take my trail for the better part of a day’s travel,” he said.  “There is much meat on the ice—­a she-bear and two half-grown cubs.”

Ikeega was overcome with joy, but he received her demonstrations in manlike fashion, saying:  “Come, Ikeega, let us eat.  And after that I shall sleep, for I am weary.”

And he passed into their igloo and ate profoundly, and after that slept for twenty running hours.

There was much doubt at first, much doubt and discussion.  The killing of a polar bear is very dangerous, but thrice dangerous is it, and three times thrice, to kill a mother bear with her cubs.  The men could not bring themselves to believe that the boy Keesh, single-handed, had accomplished so great a marvel.  But the women spoke of the fresh-killed meat he had brought on his back, and this was an overwhelming argument against their unbelief.  So they finally departed, grumbling greatly that in all probability, if the thing were so, he had neglected to cut up the carcasses.  Now in the north it is very necessary that this should be done as soon as a kill is made.  If not, the meat freezes so solidly as to turn the edge of the sharpest knife, and a three-hundred-pound bear, frozen stiff, is no easy thing to put upon a sled and haul over the rough ice.  But arrived at the spot, they found not only the kill which they had doubted, but that Keesh had quartered the beasts in true hunter fashion, and removed the entrails.

Thus began the mystery of Keesh, a mystery that deepened and deepened with the passing of the days.  His very next trip he killed a young bear, nearly full-grown, and on the trip following, a large male bear and his mate.  He was ordinarily gone from three to four days, though it was nothing unusual for him to stay away a week at a time on the ice-field.  Always he declined company on these expeditions, and the people marveled.  “How does he do it?” they demanded of one another.  “Never does he take a dog with him, and dogs are of such great help, too.”

“Why dost thou hunt only bear?” Klosh-Kwan once ventured to ask.

And Keesh made fitting answer.  “It is well known that there is more meat on the bear,” he said.

But there was also talk of witchcraft in the village.  “He hunts with evil spirits,” some of the people contended, “wherefore his hunting is rewarded.  How else can it be, save that he hunts with evil spirits?”

“Mayhap they be not evil, but good, these spirits,” others said.  “It is known that his father was a mighty hunter.  May not his father hunt with him so that he may attain excellence and patience and understanding?  Who knows?”