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In the midday heat the men ceased from their work and made a meal of dried fish and seal oil which the women brought up. There was some clamor for the food of the Sunlanders in the igloo of Neegah, but Tyee refused to divide it until the return of the ship party. Speculations upon the outcome became rife, but in the midst of it a dull boom drifted up over the land from the sea. The keen-eyed ones made out a dense cloud of smoke, which quickly disappeared, and which they averred was directly over the ship of the Sunlanders. Tyee was of the opinion that it was a big gun. Aab-Waak did not know, but thought it might be a signal of some sort. Anyway, he said, it was time something happened.

Five or six hours afterward a solitary man was descried coming across the wide flat from the sea, and the women and children poured out upon him in a body. It was Ounenk, naked, winded, and wounded. The blood still trickled down his face from a gash on the forehead. His left arm, frightfully mangled, hung helpless at his side. But most significant of all, there was a wild gleam in his eyes which betokened the women knew not what.

“Where be Peshack?” an old squaw queried sharply.

“And Olitlie?” “And Polak?” “And Mah-Kook?” the voices took up the cry.

But he said nothing, brushing his way through the clamorous mass and directing his staggering steps toward Tyee. The old squaw raised the wail, and one by one the women joined her as they swung in behind. The men crawled out of their trenches and ran back to gather about Tyee, and it was noticed that the Sunlanders climbed upon their barricade to see.

Ounenk halted, swept the blood from his eyes, and looked about. He strove to speak, but his dry lips were glued together. Likeeta fetched him water, and he grunted and drank again.

“Was it a fight?” Tyee demanded finally,–“a good fight?”

“Ho! ho! ho!” So suddenly and so fiercely did Ounenk laugh that every voice hushed. “Never was there such a fight! So I say, I, Ounenk, fighter beforetime of beasts and men. And ere I forget, let me speak fat words and wise. By fighting will the Sunlanders teach us Mandell Folk how to fight. And if we fight long enough, we shall be great fighters, even as the Sunlanders, or else we shall be–dead. Ho! ho! ho! It was a fight!”

“Where be thy brothers?” Tyee shook him till he shrieked from the pain of his hurts.

Ounenk sobered. “My brothers? They are not.”

“And Pome-Lee?” cried one of the two Hungry Folk; “Pome-Lee, the son of my mother?”

“Pome-Lee is not,” Ounenk answered in a monotonous voice.

“And the Sunlanders?” from Aab-Waak.

“The Sunlanders are not.”

“Then the ship of the Sunlanders, and the wealth and guns and things?” Tyee demanded.

“Neither the ship of the Sunlanders, nor the wealth and guns and things,” was the unvarying response. “All are not. Nothing is. I only am.”

“And thou art a fool.”

“It may be so,” Ounenk answered, unruffled.

“I have seen that which would well make me a fool.”

Tyee held his tongue, and all waited till it should please Ounenk to tell the story in his own way.

“We took no guns, O Tyee,” he at last began; “no guns, my brothers–only knives and hunting bows and spears. And in twos and threes, in our kayaks, we came to the ship. They were glad to see us, the Sunlanders, and we spread our skins and they brought out their articles of trade, and everything was well. And Pome-Lee waited–waited till the sun was well overhead and they sat at meat, when he gave the cry and we fell upon them. Never was there such a fight, and never such fighters. Half did we kill in the quickness of surprise, but the half that was left became as devils, and they multiplied themselves, and everywhere they fought like devils. Three put their backs against the mast of the ship, and we ringed them with our dead before they died. And some got guns and shot with both eyes wide open, and very quick and sure. And one got a big gun, from which at one time he shot many small bullets. And so, behold!”