The Walrus Hunters | Page 3

to a very bad imitation of it, insomuch that the poorest counterfeit will turn them out of their course and attract them towards the crier.
Availing himself of this weakness, our Eskimo hid himself behind a bush, and was opening his mouth to give vent to a stentorian goose-call when he was checked, and apparently petrified, by a loud report, which echoed among the neighbouring cliffs.
The youth knew the sound well. He had heard it only once before, but, once heard, it could never be forgotten. It was the gun, or, as his people called it, the fire-spouter, of an Indian. Plunging quietly into the underwood, he hastened towards the spot where a little wreath of smoke betrayed the position of what may be almost styled his hereditary foe.
Cautiously, carefully, and with a catlike motion that could hardly have been excelled by an Indian brave, Cheenbuk advanced until he reached the edge of a partially clear space, in which he beheld an Indian leisurely engaged in pushing the head of a large grey goose under his belt. At his side, leaning against a tree, was the long-barrelled fowling-piece, which he had just reloaded. It was one of those common, cheap, flint-lock affairs which were supplied by the fur-traders in those days.
The Indian was a tall, powerfully built middle-aged man, and, from his look and manner, was evidently unsuspicious of the presence of a foe. He seemed to be quite alone.
The Eskimo poised his light spear, but hesitated to launch it. He shrank from killing a defenceless foe. The hesitation betrayed him, for at the moment the sharp ear of the red man heard, and his eye discovered him.
The gun flew to the Indian's shoulder, and the Eskimo launched his spear, but by good fortune both weapons failed. The well-directed spear was cleverly dodged, and the gun missed fire.
To re-cock the weapon, take a more deadly aim, and pull the trigger, was the work of three seconds; but again the flint proved faithless. Cheenbuk, however, divined the meaning of the attempt, and sprang upon his foe to prevent a repetition of the action, though he was now practically unarmed,--for the little stone knife which he carried in his bosom was but ill suited for deadly combat.
The Indian clubbed his gun to meet the onset, but the Eskimo, evading the first blow, caught hold of the weapon with both hands, and now began a fierce and prolonged struggle for possession of the "fire-spouter."
Both hands of each combatant being engaged, neither could venture to draw his knife, and, as the men were pretty equally matched, both as to size and strength, they swayed to and fro with desperate energy for a considerable time, each endeavouring to throw the other, while the sweat poured down their faces and their breathing came in fitful gasps.
At length there was a pause in the conflict. It seemed as if they had stopped by mutual consent to recover breath for a final effort.
As they glared into each other's faces, each felt surprised to see little or nothing of the evidence of that deadly hatred which usually characterises implacable foes. Suddenly Cheenbuk relaxed his grip of the gun and stepped back a pace. In so doing he put himself, to some extent at least, at the mercy of his adversary. With quick perception the Indian recognised the fact. He drew himself up and dropped the gun on the ground.
"Why should we fight? The hunting-grounds are wide enough!" he said, in the grave sententious tones peculiar to his race.
"That is just what came to my thought when I let go," answered the more matter-of-fact Eskimo.
"Let us part, then, as friends," returned the red man, "and let us do it in the manner of the pale-faced traders."
He extended his right hand as he spoke. Cheenbuk, who had heard a rumour of the white man's customs--probably from men of his race who had met with the crews of whalers--advanced, grasped the extended hand, and shook it in a way that might have done credit to any Englishman! He smiled at the same time with a slightly humorous expression, but the other maintained his solemnity. Fun is not a prominent characteristic of the red man.
"But there is no need that we should part before feeding," said the Eskimo.
"Waugh!" replied the Indian, by which it is to be presumed he signified assent.
The reconciled foes being both adepts in the art of cookery, and--one of them at least--in woodcraft, it was not long before a large fire was blazing under a convenient fir-tree, and the grey goose soon hissed pleasantly in front of it. They were a quiet and self-contained couple, however, and went about their work in profound silence. Not that they lacked ideas or language--for each, being naturally a good linguist, had somehow acquired