isted horn or tusk, of yellow ivory, jutting
straight out from its upper jaw to a length of about four feet. It was
that most peculiar of all the whales, a narwhal.

From time to time this ominous shape would launch itself upward among
the salmon, transfixing some of the largest fish with lightning thrusts
of its tusk, and killing others by terrible, thrashing side-blows of the
weapon. Sometimes it would open its great mouth and engulf the most
convenient victim; but it did not seem ravenous. Its hunger was already
all but glutted, and its purpose seemed to be, mainly, to kill, in order
that food might still be abundant after the salmon had passed on up the
river beyond his reach.

When the white bear, swimming under water outstretched like an otter,
saw this threatening form, his veins ran fire. Darting downward, easily
as a mink might have done, he struck the unsuspecting narwhal in the
middle of the back just between the flippers. His mighty fore paws,
armed with claws like knife-blades, tore two gaping wounds in the
narwhal's hide, and the dark blood jetted forth. But the wounds went
little below the blanket of blubber which enclosed the narwhal
underneath his hide. Beyond the pain of those two tearing buffets, the
great sea-beast was little the worse of them. With a surge of his tail
he lunged forward, and turned furiously upon his assailant.

The bear, though rash in his arrogance and rage, was no mere headlong
blunderer. Though he mistook the narwhal for some kind of gigantic
seal, and therefore scorned him, he had not missed the possibilities of
that long, menacing horn. He was upon his foe again in an instant, not
giving him time to charge, and successfully planted another rending
stroke which disabled the narwhal's right flipper. Then, however,
finding that he could hold his breath no longer after such terrific
exertion, he darted to the surface, and hurriedly refilled his lungs.

To regain his breath took him but a moment, and instantly aware of his
peril while at the surface, he dived again to renew his attack. As he
dived, either his own craft or some subtle forewarning led him to twist
sharply to one side. But for this, his fighting would have ended then
and there, his heart split by the thrust of that giant tusk. As it was,
the mad upward rush of the narwhal missed its aim. The bear felt a
couple of salmon hurled in his face. Then the horn shot past his neck;
and a black mass smote him full in the ches