the old chief went on.

"This is wrong. It is not right. It is altogether unbearable, and more
than the Dogribs can stand. They _won't_ stand it!"

"Waugh!" again said the audience, for the old man had delivered the last
sentence with considerable vehemence, and meant that it should tell.

Being apparently destitute of a flow of ideas at that time, the speaker
had recourse to a not uncommon device among civilised orators: he
cleared his throat, looked preternaturally wise, and changed the
subject.

"When the sun of spring rises over the ice-hills of the great salt
lake," he continued, pointing towards the Pole, "when it melts the snow,
opens the lakes and rivers, and brings the summer birds to our land, the
braves of the great Dogrib nation take their guns, and bows, and canoes,
and women, and travel nearly as far as the icy sea, that they may hunt
and feed--and--sleep, and--and--enjoy the land. Nobody dares to stop
us. Nobody dares to hinder us. Nobody dares even to look at us!"

He paused again, and this flight of oratory was received with a very
decided "ho!" of assent, as it well might be, for during nearly all the
year there was nobody in that uninhabited land to attempt any of those
violent proceedings. Dilating his eyes and nostrils with a look of
superlative wisdom, he continued:

"But at last the Eskimos dared to come and look at our hunting-grounds.
We were peacefully disposed. We warned them not to come again. They
came again, notwithstanding. We took our guns and swept them away like
leaves that are swept by the winter winds. Are not their scalps drying
in our lodges? What we did then we will do again. Has not one of our
chiefs--Nazinred--been attacked by one of them? No doubt more will
follow that one. My counsel is to send out a band of our braves on the
war-path. But first we would like to know something. As the Eskimo did
not take the scalp of Nazinred, how is it that Nazinred did not bring
home the scalp of the Eskimo?"

The old chief ceased, amid many "ho's!" and "hoo's!" with the air of one
who has propounded an unanswerable riddle, and all eyes were at once
turned upon Nazinred. Accepting the challenge at once he stretched
forth his hand:

"My father has spoken," he said, "but his words are not the words of
wisdom. Why should we fight the Eskimos again, and lose some of our
best young men, as we lost them in the last great fight? The Eskimos
have come near our lands, but