“You must live here, and teach us all of your deviltries,” was the reply.

Subienkow shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.  He blew cigarette smoke out on the icy air, and curiously regarded what remained of the big Cossack.

“That scar!” Makamuk said suddenly, pointing to the Pole’s neck, where a livid mark advertised the slash of a knife in a Kamtchatkan brawl.  “The medicine is not good.  The cutting edge was stronger than the medicine.”

“It was a strong man that drove the stroke.” (Subienkow considered.) “Stronger than you, stronger than your strongest hunter, stronger than he.”

Again, with the toe of his moccasin, he touched the Cossack—­a grisly spectacle, no longer conscious—­yet in whose dismembered body the pain-racked life clung and was loth to go.

“Also, the medicine was weak.  For at that place there were no berries of a certain kind, of which I see you have plenty in this country.  The medicine here will be strong.”

“I will let you go down river,” said Makamuk; “and the sled and the dogs and the six hunters to give you safety shall be yours.”

“You are slow,” was the cool rejoinder.  “You have committed an offence against my medicine in that you did not at once accept my terms.  Behold, I now demand more.  I want one hundred beaver skins.” (Makamuk sneered.)

“I want one hundred pounds of dried fish.” (Makamuk nodded, for fish were plentiful and cheap.) “I want two sleds—­one for me and one for my furs and fish.  And my rifle must be returned to me.  If you do not like the price, in a little while the price will grow.”

Yakaga whispered to the chief.

“But how can I know your medicine is true medicine?” Makamuk asked.

“It is very easy.  First, I shall go into the woods—­”

Again Yakaga whispered to Makamuk, who made a suspicious dissent.

“You can send twenty hunters with me,” Subienkow went on.  “You see, I must get the berries and the roots with which to make the medicine.  Then, when you have brought the two sleds and loaded on them the fish and the beaver skins and the rifle, and when you have told off the six hunters who will go with me—­then, when all is ready, I will rub the medicine on my neck, so, and lay my neck there on that log.  Then can your strongest hunter take the axe and strike three times on my neck.  You yourself can strike the three times.”

Makamuk stood with gaping mouth, drinking in this latest and most wonderful magic of the fur-thieves.

“But first,” the Pole added hastily, “between each blow I must put on fresh medicine.  The axe is heavy and sharp, and I want no mistakes.”

“All that you have asked shall be yours,” Makamuk cried in a rush of acceptance.  “Proceed to make your medicine.”

Subienkow concealed his elation.  He was playing a desperate game, and there must be no slips.  He spoke arrogantly.