Now and then Ootah saw some of the visitors raising flasks to their lips.  Then their hilarity rang out more boisterously.

When they saw the kayaks approaching the shore the strangers shouted.  The hunters replied.  Only Ootah remained silent.  Disapproving of the spectacle, his thoughts were busier elsewhere; his heart glowed.

“Ho, ho, what there?” some called.

“Aveq soah,” Maisanguaq replied.

“Jolly for you!” shouted a Newfoundland sailor, whom Ootah recognized as having been in the region with some sportsmen from far away America several years before.

As they danced the visitors broke into the fragments of a wild sailor’s chorus.

When they had finished, the Newfoundlander, a tall, tough, red-faced whaler, drank again from his flask and strode to the shore.  His bulky body reeled unsteadily.

“Come on up—­bring ‘er in—­hurry up!  Gawd, but you’r’ blazin’ slow!”

Ootah and his companions landed.  Tugging at the leather lines they drew the walrus one by one from the water to the ice.  In these monstrous palpitating black bodies were tons of food and fuel.  Without wasting time, they fell to their task and dressed the animals.  Meanwhile sleds were brought from the tents and the masses of steaming meat and blubber were loaded.  While the natives were thus busily engaged, the half-drunken Newfoundlander strode about uttering great oaths.  The strangers’ dogs, attracted by the meat, with shrill howling descended to the ice and surrounded the sled-loads of blubber.  Ootah seized an oar and beat them away.

“What the hell d’ye mean,” the Newfoundlander demanded.  “Youh’d beat our dogs?  Eh?  Get away, damn youh!” He lifted his fist above Ootah.  His face purpled, Ootah raised his lithe body, his muscles quivered like drawn rubber.  His black eyes flashed proud defiance.

“Youh’d fight me, eh?—­youh defy me, youh damn candle-suckin’ heathen!”

His hand descended.  Beyond, the drum beaters ceased, the dancers turned—­a surprised cry went up.

Ootah drew hack, his face flushed.  There was a red spot on his cheek where the white man’s fist had struck.  He felt a sense of momentary terror.  The white men’s methods of fighting were unfamiliar to the natives.  A blow from the fist is a thing unknown among them.  Ootah drew away—­the bullying Newfoundlander followed.

“Youh’d beat our dogs, eh?  Well, I’ll show youh, youh oily, tallow-eatin’ husky!”

He called the dogs, and stooping to the treasured mass of blubber threw a great mass to the howling animals.

“Ha! ha! ha! guess youh thought youh were smart, eh?” A second team of dogs, released from their tethering, came wildly dashing shoreward.  The whaler seized another mass of meat and flung it to the animals.