With quick despatch they fell upon the animal with their knives.  Neither spoke—­they worked breathlessly.  With marvellous skill they peeled off the heavy skin, and with amazing dexterity carved great masses of bleeding meat clean from the bones.  When they had finished, only a great skeleton remained.  Outside the cave, eager, whining, the starving dogs obediently crouched.  When they had completed the task of dressing, Ootah lifted his hand and the canines, with howling avidity, fell upon the steaming mass of entrails.

Upon the two sledges the hunters loaded and lashed securely their treasure of meat.  In the moonlight the hot steam rose from the tremulous masses and Ootah’s nostrils dilated with eager, anticipatory delight.  The blood dripped upon the snow and Ootah’s stomach ached.  He had not dared to think of eating until now.  Their hands shaking with nervous hunger, the two fell upon the remaining meat.  They feasted with that savage hungry joy known only to human creatures who have faced starvation.  When they started on the return journey there was a new vibrant elasticity in their steps.

Ootah snapped his whip and sang.

And his heart sang, too, of Annadoah.

Looking at the clouds, as they drifted through the valley, Ootah imagined he saw Annadoah lying upon her couch asleep, and in the faint light of an oil lamp he saw upon her face a pleased smile.

“Of what doth Annadoah dream?” Ootah asked the winds.

“Of springtime when the flowers bloom,” the winds replied.

“And Annadoah will move to a new skin tent with Ootah!” he said, joyously, exultantly.  “Ootah will bring food unto Annadoah and she will reward him with her love.”

“Foolish Ootah,” moaned the wind, “love cannot be won with food, neither with ahmingmah meat nor walrus blubber.”  Ootah felt his heart sink; a vague and heavy misgiving filled him.  Being very simple, he had always thought that by securing wealth, in dogs and food, in guns and ammunition, and by achieving pre-eminence on the hunt, he should win Annadoah’s confidence and love.  But now, upon the breath of the winds, by the voices of nature, doubt came into his heart.  The mistake of many men the world over, and of many wiser than he, he could not understand just why this was—­this thing the winds said, and which his own heart correspondingly whispered.  With food he might possibly win Annadoah’s consent to be his wife, yes, he knew that; but Annadoah’s love—­that was another thing.  Surely, he now realized, as he strode along, that by simply giving her food he could not expect to stir in her heart a response to that which throbbed in his.  But why?  Singularly he never thought of the bravery of his seeking food on this perilous adventure, an act which, had he known it, had indeed touched the heart of the beautiful maiden.