s, 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