Evidently the Chukches were very revengeful in spirit or very faithful in the performance of murders they had covenanted to commit.  At any rate, here they were.  And the girl did not deceive herself, this was a council chamber.  She did not doubt for a moment that her sentence would be death.  Her only question was, could there be a way of escape?  The wall was lined with dusky forms this time.  The entrance was closely guarded.  Only one possibility offered; above her head, some five feet, a strong rawhide rope crossed from pole to pole of the igloo.  Directly above this was the smoke hole.  She had once entered one of these when an igloo was drifted over with snow.

The solemn parley of the council soon began.  Like a lawyer presenting his case, the headman of the reindeer tribe stood before them all and with many gestures told his story.  At intervals in his speech two men stepped forward for examination.  The jaw of one of them was very stiff and three of his teeth were gone.  As to the other, his face was still tied up in bandages of tanned deer skin.  His jaw was said to be broken.  The Jap girl, in spite of her peril, smiled.  Johnny had done his work well.

There followed long harangues by other members of the reindeer tribe.  The last speech was made by the headman of East Cape.  It was the longest of all.

At length a native boy turned to the Jap girl and spoke to her in English.

“They say, that one; they say all; you die.  What you say?”

“I say want—­a—­die,” she replied smiling.

This answer, when interpreted, brought forth many a grunt of surprise.

“They say, that one! they say all,” the boy went on, “how you want—­a die?  Shoot?  Stab?”

“Shoot.”  She smiled again, then, “But first I do two thing.  I sing.  I dance.  My people alletime so.”

“Ki-ke” (go ahead) came in a chorus when her words had been interpreted.

No people are fonder of rhythmic motion and dreamy chanting than are the natives of the far north.  The keen-witted Japanese girl had learned this by watching their native dancing.  She had once visited an island in the Pacific and had learned while there a weird song and a wild, whirling dance.

Now, as she stood up she kicked from her feet the clumsy deer skin boots and, from beneath her parka extracted grass slippers light as silk.  Then, standing on tip toe with arms outspread, like a bird about to fly, she bent her supple body forward, backward and to one side.  Waving her arms up and down she chanted in a low, monotonous and dreamy tone.

All eyes were upon her.  All ears were alert to every note of the chant.  Great was the Chukche who learned some new chant, introduced some unfamiliar dance.  Great would he be who remembered this song and dance when this woman was dead.

The tones of the singer became more distinct, her voice rose and fell.  Her feet began to move, slowly at first, then rapidly and yet more rapidly.  Now she became an animated voice of stirring chant, a whirling personification of rhythm.