eference to what had passed, the Indian turned to his
companion and said, "Why should the men of the ice fight with the men of
the woods?"

"Why?" asked Cheenbuk, after a few moments' profound meditation, "why
should the men of the woods attack the men of the ice with their
fire-spouters?"

This question seemed to puzzle the Indian so much that he proceeded to
fill another pipe before answering it. Meanwhile the Eskimo, being more
active-minded, continued--

"Is it fair for the men of the woods to come to fight us with
fire-spouters when we have only spears? Meet us with the same weapons,
and then we shall see which are the best men."

The Indian looked at his companion solemnly and shook his head.

"The strongest warriors and the best fighters," he said, "are not always
the best men. He who hunts well, keeps his wives supplied with plenty
of food and deerskin robes, and is kind to his children, is the best
man."

Cheenbuk looked suddenly in the face of his sententious companion with
earnest surprise in every feature, for the sentiments which had just
been expressed were in exact accordance with his own. Moreover, they
were not what he expected to hear from the lips of a Dogrib.

"I never liked fighting," he said in a low voice, "though I have always
been able to fight. It does nobody any good, and it always does
everybody much harm, for it loses much blood, and it leaves many women
and children without food-providers--which is uncomfortable for the men
who have enough of women and children of their own to hunt for. But,"
continued the youth with emphasis, "I always thought that the men of the
woods loved fighting."

"Some of them do, but I hate it!" said the Indian with a sudden look of
such ferocity that the Eskimo might have been justified in doubting the
truth of the statement.

The flash, however, quickly disappeared, and a double wreath of smoke
issued from his nose as he remarked quietly, "Fighting lost me my
father, my two brothers, and my only son."

"Why, then, do you still come against us with fire-spouters?" asked
Cheenbuk.

"Because my people will have it so," returned the red man. "I do what I
can to stop them, but I am only one, and there are many against me."

"I too have tried to stop my people when they would fight among
themselves," returned the Eskimo in a tone of sympathy; "but it is
easier to kill a walrus single-handed than to turn an angry man from his
purpose."

The Indi