The Eternal Maiden | Page 3

doors of their seal-skin tents. They looked
seaward and shook their heads with dismay.
"Many walrus--far away," the men shouted.
"No, no," the timid women returned. "Walrus too far
away--Perdlugssuaq will strike you there!"
Against the distant horizon mighty bergs loomed. In swift eddies of
water great floes swirled. The walrus were too far away to be seen. Yet
the opportunity of securing walrus was too rare to be missed; for unless
food and fuel were soon secured, starvation during the coming winter
confronted the tribe. The previous winter had been one of
unprecedented severity and had wiped out bears, and herds of caribou
and musk oxen. The summer season, which was now drawing to a close,
had been destitute of every kind of game. Musk oxen had been seldom

found and then only in the far inland valleys. Some blight of nature
seemed to have exterminated even the animals of the sea. The natives
had lived mainly on the teeming bird life. From the scrawny bodies of
the arctic birds, however, neither food that could be preserved nor fuel
to be burned in the lamps could be secured. On musk oxen the tribes
depend chiefly for hides and meat, and on walrus for both food and fuel.
The ammunition, brought by Danish traders the summer before, was
exhausted, so in the hunt they had for many sleeps to rely solely upon
their skill with their own primitive weapons. For months the doughty
hunters had gathered but few supplies. The prospect of the coming
winter was ominous indeed. Wandering up and down the coast in their
migrating excursions the tribes had scoured land and sea with but
meagre results. At the village from which they now heard the inspiring
walrus calls, a dozen visiting tribesmen--most of them in search for
wives as well as game--had gathered. Joy filled them in the prospect of
securing supplies--and possible success in love--at last.
As they launched their kayaks, in impatient haste lest the walrus drift
too far seaward, some one called:
"Ootah! Ootah!"
They gazed anxiously about. Ootah, the bravest and most distinguished
of the hunters, was missing. All the young men would gladly have
started without Ootah, but the elders, who knew his skill and the might
of his arm, were not willing.
To the younger men there was an added zest in the hunt; each felt in the
other a rival, and Ootah the one most to be feared. A feverish anxiety, a
burning desire to distinguish himself flushed the heart of each brave
hunter. For whoever brought back the most game, so they believed,
stood the best chance of winning the hand of Annadoah. Of all the
unmarried maidens of the tribes, none cooked so well, none could sew
so well as Annadoah, none was so skilled in the art of making ahttees
and kamiks as Annadoah. And, moreover, Annadoah was very fair.
"Ootah! aveq soah! Hasten thou! The walrus are drifting to sea."
Attalaq rushed up to the village and paused at the tent of Annadoah.
"Ootah!" he called.
A voice from within replied.
"We start--the wind drifts--the walrus are carried to sea."
"I come!" replied Ootah.

The flap of the tent opened. The sunlight poured upon the face of the
young hunter. He smiled radiantly, with the self-assertion of youth, the
joy of life.
Ootah was graced with unwonted beauty. He was slight and agile of
limb; his body was supple and lithe; his face was immobile, beardless,
and with curving lips vividly red, a nose, small, with nostrils dilating
sensitively, and eyebrows heavily lashed, it possessed something of the
softness of a woman. His glistening black hair, bound about his
forehead by a narrow fillet of skins, fell riotously over his shoulders.
His eyes were large and dark and swam with an ardent light.
He turned.
"Thou wilt not place thy face to mine, Annadoah? Yet I love thee,
Annadoah. My heart melts as streams in springtime, Annadoah. My
arms grow strong as the wind, and my hand swift as an arrow for love
of thee, Annadoah. The joy the sight of thee gives me is greater than
that of food after starving in the long winter! Yea, thou wilt be mine?
Surely for my heart bursts for love of thee, Annadoah."
He leaned back, stretching his arms, but Annadoah shyly drew further
inside her shelter.
With a sigh he flung his leather line over his shoulder, seized his
harpoons, and stepped from the tent. His step was resilient and buoyant,
his slim body moved with the grace of an arctic deer. He looked back
as he reached the icy shore. Annadoah stood at the door of her tent. Her
parting laughter rang after him with the sweetness of buntings singing
in spring.
Ootah's heart leaped within him. Annadoah