“Thus will I give six blankets, warm and double; six files, large and hard; six Hudson Bay knives, keen-edged and long; two canoes, the work of Mogum, The Maker of Things; ten dogs, heavy-shouldered and strong in the harness; and three guns ­the trigger of one be broken, but it is a good gun and can doubtless be mended.”

Keesh paused and swept his eyes over the circle of intent faces.  It was the time of the Great Fishing, and he was bidding to Gnob for Su-Su his daughter.  The place was the St. George Mission by the Yukon, and the tribes had gathered for many a hundred miles.  From north, south, east, and west they had come, even from Tozikakat and far Tana-naw.

“And further, O Gnob, thou art chief of the Tana-naw; and I, Keesh, the son of Keesh, am chief of the Thlunget.  Wherefore, when my seed springs from the loins of thy daughter, there shall be a friendship between the tribes, a great friendship, and Tana-naw and Thlunget shall be brothers of the blood in the time to come.  What I have said I will do, that will I do.  And how is it with you, O Gnob, in this matter?”

Gnob nodded his head gravely, his gnarled and age-twisted face inscrutably masking the soul that dwelt behind.  His narrow eyes burned like twin coals through their narrow slits, as he piped in a high-cracked voice, “But that is not all.”

“What more?” Keesh demanded.  “Have I not offered full measure?  Was there ever yet a Tana-naw maiden who fetched so great a price?  Then name her!”

An open snicker passed round the circle, and Keesh knew that he stood in shame before these people.

“Nay, nay, good Keesh, thou dost not understand.”  Gnob made a soft, stroking gesture.  “The price is fair.  It is a good price.  Nor do I question the broken trigger.  But that is not all.  What of the man?”

“Ay, what of the man?” the circle snarled.

“It is said,” Gnob’s shrill voice piped, “it is said that Keesh does not walk in the way of his fathers.  It is said that he has wandered into the dark, after strange gods, and that he is become afraid.”

The face of Keesh went dark.  “It is a lie!” he thundered.  “Keesh is afraid of no man!”

“It is said,” old Gnob piped on, “that he has harkened to the speech of the white man up at the Big House, and that he bends head to the white man’s god, and, moreover, that blood is displeasing to the white man’s god.”

Keesh dropped his eyes, and his hands clenched passionately.  The savage circle laughed derisively, and in the ear of Gnob whispered Madwan, the shaman, high-priest of the tribe and maker of medicine.

The shaman poked among the shadows on the rim of the firelight and roused up a slender young boy, whom he brought face to face with Keesh; and in the hand of Keesh he thrust a knife.

Gnob leaned forward.  “Keesh!  O Keesh!  Darest thou to kill a man?  Behold!  This be Kitz-noo, a slave.  Strike, O Keesh, strike with the strength of thy arm!”

The boy trembled and waited the stroke.  Keesh looked at him, and thoughts of Mr. Brown’s higher morality floated through his mind, and strong upon him was a vision of the leaping flames of Mr. Brown’s particular brand of hell-fire.  The knife fell to the ground, and the boy sighed and went out beyond the firelight with shaking knees.  At the feet of Gnob sprawled a wolf-dog, which bared its gleaming teeth and prepared to spring after the boy.  But the shaman ground his foot into the brute’s body, and so doing, gave Gnob an idea.

“And then, O Keesh, what wouldst thou do, should a man do this thing to you?” ­as he spoke, Gnob held a ribbon of salmon to White Fang, and when the animal attempted to take it, smote him sharply on the nose with a stick.  “And afterward, O Keesh, wouldst thou do thus?” ­White Fang was cringing back on his belly and fawning to the hand of Gnob.

“Listen!” ­leaning on the arm of Madwan, Gnob had risen to his feet.  “I am very old, and because I am very old I will tell thee things.  Thy father, Keesh, was a mighty man.  And he did love the song of the bowstring in battle, and these eyes have beheld him cast a spear till the head stood out beyond a man’s body.  But thou art unlike.  Since thou left the Raven to worship the Wolf, thou art become afraid of blood, and thou makest thy people afraid.  This is not good.  For behold, when I was a boy, even as Kitz-noo there, there was no white man in all the land.  But they came, one by one, these white men, till now they are many.  And they are a restless breed, never content to rest by the fire with a full belly and let the morrow bring its own meat.  A curse was laid upon them, it would seem, and they must work it out in toil and hardship.”

Keesh was startled.  A recollection of a hazy story told by Mr. Brown of one Adam, of old time, came to him, and it seemed that Mr. Brown had spoken true.

“So they lay hands upon all they behold, these white men, and they go everywhere and behold all things.  And ever do more follow in their steps, so that if nothing be done they will come to possess all the land and there will be no room for the tribes of the Raven.  Wherefore it is meet that we fight with them till none are left.  Then will we hold the passes and the land, and perhaps our children and our children’s children shall flourish and grow fat.  There is a great struggle to come, when Wolf and Raven shall grapple; but Keesh will not fight, nor will he let his people fight.  So it is not well that he should take to him my daughter.  Thus have I spoken, I, Gnob, chief of the Tana-naw.”

“But the white men are good and great,” Keesh made answer.  “The white men have taught us many things.  The white men have given us blankets and knives and guns, such as we have never made and never could make.  I remember in what manner we lived before they came.  I was unborn then, but I have it from my father.  When we went on the hunt we must creep so close to the moose that a spear-cast would cover the distance.  To-day we use the white man’s rifle, and farther away than can a child’s cry be heard.  We ate fish and meat and berries ­there was nothing else to eat ­and we ate without salt.  How many be there among you who care to go back to the fish and meat without salt?”

It would have sunk home, had not Madwan leaped to his feet ere silence could come.  “And first a question to thee, Keesh.  The white man up at the Big House tells you that it is wrong to kill.  Yet do we not know that the white men kill?  Have we forgotten the great fight on the Koyokuk? or the great fight at Nuklukyeto, where three white men killed twenty of the Tozikakats?  Do you think we no longer remember the three men of the Tana-naw that the white man Macklewrath killed?  Tell me, O Keesh, why does the Shaman Brown teach you that it is wrong to fight, when all his brothers fight?”

“Nay, nay, there is no need to answer,” Gnob piped, while Keesh struggled with the paradox.  “It is very simple.  The Good Man Brown would hold the Raven tight whilst his brothers pluck the feathers.”  He raised his voice.  “But so long as there is one Tana-naw to strike a blow, or one maiden to bear a man-child, the Raven shall not be plucked!”

Gnob turned to a husky young man across the fire.  “And what sayest thou, Makamuk, who art brother to Su-Su?”

Makamuk came to his feet.  A long face-scar lifted his upper lip into a perpetual grin which belied the glowing ferocity of his eyes.  “This day,” he began with cunning irrelevance, “I came by the Trader Macklewrath’s cabin.  And in the door I saw a child laughing at the sun.  And the child looked at me with the Trader Macklewrath’s eyes, and it was frightened.  The mother ran to it and quieted it.  The mother was Ziska, the Thlunget woman.”

A snarl of rage rose up and drowned his voice, which he stilled by turning dramatically upon Keesh with outstretched arm and accusing finger.

“So?  You give your women away, you Thlunget, and come to the Tana-naw for more?  But we have need of our women, Keesh; for we must breed men, many men, against the day when the Raven grapples with the Wolf.”

Through the storm of applause, Gnob’s voice shrilled clear.  “And thou, Nossabok, who art her favorite brother?”

The young fellow was slender and graceful, with the strong aquiline nose and high brows of his type; but from some nervous affliction the lid of one eye drooped at odd times in a suggestive wink.  Even as he arose it so drooped and rested a moment against his cheek.  But it was not greeted with the accustomed laughter.  Every face was grave.  “I, too, passed by the Trader Macklewrath’s cabin,” he rippled in soft, girlish tones, wherein there was much of youth and much of his sister.  “And I saw Indians with the sweat running into their eyes and their knees shaking with weariness ­I say, I saw Indians groaning under the logs for the store which the Trader Macklewrath is to build.  And with my eyes I saw them chopping wood to keep the Shaman Brown’s Big House warm through the frost of the long nights.  This be squaw work.  Never shall the Tana-naw do the like.  We shall be blood brothers to men, not squaws; and the Thlunget be squaws.”

A deep silence fell, and all eyes centred on Keesh.  He looked about him carefully, deliberately, full into the face of each grown man.  “So,” he said passionlessly.  And “So,” he repeated.  Then turned on his heel without further word and passed out into the darkness.

Wading among sprawling babies and bristling wolf-dogs, he threaded the great camp, and on its outskirts came upon a woman at work by the light of a fire.  With strings of bark stripped from the long roots of creeping vines, she was braiding rope for the Fishing.  For some time, without speech, he watched her deft hands bringing law and order out of the unruly mass of curling fibres.  She was good to look upon, swaying there to her task, strong-limbed, deep-chested, and with hips made for motherhood.  And the bronze of her face was golden in the flickering light, her hair blue-black, her eyes jet.

“O Su-Su,” he spoke finally, “thou hast looked upon me kindly in the days that have gone and in the days yet young ­”

“I looked kindly upon thee for that thou wert chief of the Thlunget,” she answered quickly, “and because thou wert big and strong.”

“Ay ­”

“But that was in the old days of the Fishing,” she hastened to add, “before the Shaman Brown came and taught thee ill things and led thy feet on strange trails.”

“But I would tell thee the ­”

She held up one hand in a gesture which reminded him of her father.  “Nay, I know already the speech that stirs in thy throat, O Keesh, and I make answer now.  It so happeneth that the fish of the water and the beasts of the forest bring forth after their kind.  And this is good.  Likewise it happeneth to women.  It is for them to bring forth their kind, and even the maiden, while she is yet a maiden, feels the pang of the birth, and the pain of the breast, and the small hands at the neck.  And when such feeling is strong, then does each maiden look about her with secret eyes for the man ­for the man who shall be fit to father her kind.  So have I felt.  So did I feel when I looked upon thee and found thee big and strong, a hunter and fighter of beasts and men, well able to win meat when I should eat for two, well able to keep danger afar off when my helplessness drew nigh.  But that was before the day the Shaman Brown came into the land and taught thee ­”

“But it is not right, Su-Su.  I have it on good word ­”

“It is not right to kill.  I know what thou wouldst say.  Then breed thou after thy kind, the kind that does not kill; but come not on such quest among the Tana-naw.  For it is said in the time to come, that the Raven shall grapple with the Wolf.  I do not know, for this be the affair of men; but I do know that it is for me to bring forth men against that time.”

“Su-Su,” Keesh broke in, “thou must hear me ­”

“A man would beat me with a stick and make me hear,” she sneered.  “But thou ... here!” She thrust a bunch of bark into his hand.  “I cannot give thee myself, but this, yes.  It looks fittest in thy hands.  It is squaw work, so braid away.”

He flung it from him, the angry blood pounding a muddy path under his bronze.

“One thing more,” she went on.  “There be an old custom which thy father and mine were not strangers to.  When a man falls in battle, his scalp is carried away in token.  Very good.  But thou, who have forsworn the Raven, must do more.  Thou must bring me, not scalps, but heads, two heads, and then will I give thee, not bark, but a brave-beaded belt, and sheath, and long Russian knife.  Then will I look kindly upon thee once again, and all will be well.”

“So,” the man pondered.  “So.”  Then he turned and passed out through the light.

“Nay, O Keesh!” she called after him.  “Not two heads, but three at least!”

But Keesh remained true to his conversion, lived uprightly, and made his tribespeople obey the gospel as propounded by the Rev. Jackson Brown.  Through all the time of the Fishing he gave no heed to the Tana-naw, nor took notice of the sly things which were said, nor of the laughter of the women of the many tribes.  After the Fishing, Gnob and his people, with great store of salmon, sun-dried and smoke-cured, departed for the Hunting on the head reaches of the Tana-naw.  Keesh watched them go, but did not fail in his attendance at Mission service, where he prayed regularly and led the singing with his deep bass voice.

The Rev. Jackson Brown delighted in that deep bass voice, and because of his sterling qualities deemed him the most promising convert.  Macklewrath doubted this.  He did not believe in the efficacy of the conversion of the heathen, and he was not slow in speaking his mind.  But Mr. Brown was a large man, in his way, and he argued it out with such convincingness, all of one long fall night, that the trader, driven from position after position, finally announced in desperation, “Knock out my brains with apples, Brown, if I don’t become a convert myself, if Keesh holds fast, true blue, for two years!” Mr. Brown never lost an opportunity, so he clinched the matter on the spot with a virile hand-grip, and thenceforth the conduct of Keesh was to determine the ultimate abiding-place of Macklewrath’s soul.

But there came news one day, after the winter’s rime had settled down over the land sufficiently for travel.  A Tana-naw man arrived at the St. George Mission in quest of ammunition and bringing information that Su-Su had set eyes on Nee-Koo, a nervy young hunter who had bid brilliantly for her by old Gnob’s fire.  It was at about this time that the Rev. Jackson Brown came upon Keesh by the wood-trail which leads down to the river.  Keesh had his best dogs in the harness, and shoved under the sled-lashings was his largest and finest pair of snow-shoes.

“Where goest thou, O Keesh?  Hunting?” Mr. Brown asked, falling into the Indian manner.

Keesh looked him steadily in the eyes for a full minute, then started up his dogs.  Then again, turning his deliberate gaze upon the missionary, he answered, “No; I go to hell.”

In an open space, striving to burrow into the snow as though for shelter from the appalling desolateness, huddled three dreary lodges.  Ringed all about, a dozen paces away, was the sombre forest.  Overhead there was no keen, blue sky of naked space, but a vague, misty curtain, pregnant with snow, which had drawn between.  There was no wind, no sound, nothing but the snow and silence.  Nor was there even the general stir of life about the camp; for the hunting party had run upon the flank of the caribou herd and the kill had been large.  Thus, after the period of fasting had come the plenitude of feasting, and thus, in broad daylight, they slept heavily under their roofs of moosehide.

By a fire, before one of the lodges, five pairs of snow-shoes stood on end in their element, and by the fire sat Su-Su.  The hood of her squirrel-skin parka was about her hair, and well drawn up around her throat; but her hands were unmittened and nimbly at work with needle and sinew, completing the last fantastic design on a belt of leather faced with bright scarlet cloth.  A dog, somewhere at the rear of one of the lodges, raised a short, sharp bark, then ceased as abruptly as it had begun.  Once, her father, in the lodge at her back, gurgled and grunted in his sleep.  “Bad dreams,” she smiled to herself.  “He grows old, and that last joint was too much.”

She placed the last bead, knotted the sinew, and replenished the fire.  Then, after gazing long into the flames, she lifted her head to the harsh crunch-crunch of a moccasined foot against the flinty snow granules.  Keesh was at her side, bending slightly forward to a load which he bore upon his back.  This was wrapped loosely in a soft-tanned moosehide, and he dropped it carelessly into the snow and sat down.  They looked at each other long and without speech.

“It is a far fetch, O Keesh,” she said at last, “a far fetch from St. George Mission by the Yukon.”

“Ay,” he made answer, absently, his eyes fixed keenly upon the belt and taking note of its girth.  “But where is the knife?” he demanded.

“Here.”  She drew it from inside her parka and flashed its naked length in the firelight.  “It is a good knife.”

“Give it me!” he commanded.

“Nay, O Keesh,” she laughed.  “It may be that thou wast not born to wear it.”

“Give it me!” he reiterated, without change of tone.  “I was so born.”

But her eyes, glancing coquettishly past him to the moosehide, saw the snow about it slowly reddening.  “It is blood, Keesh?” she asked.

“Ay, it is blood.  But give me the belt and the long Russian knife.”

She felt suddenly afraid, but thrilled when he took the belt roughly from her, thrilled to the roughness.  She looked at him softly, and was aware of a pain at the breast and of small hands clutching her throat.

“It was made for a smaller man,” he remarked grimly, drawing in his abdomen and clasping the buckle at the first hole.

Su-Su smiled, and her eyes were yet softer.  Again she felt the soft hands at her throat.  He was good to look upon, and the belt was indeed small, made for a smaller man; but what did it matter?  She could make many belts.

“But the blood?” she asked, urged on by a hope new-born and growing.  “The blood, Keesh?  Is it ... are they ... heads?”

“Ay.”

“They must be very fresh, else would the blood be frozen.”

“Ay, it is not cold, and they be fresh, quite fresh.”

“Oh, Keesh!” Her face was warm and bright.  “And for me?”

“Ay; for thee.”

He took hold of a corner of the hide, flirted it open, and rolled the heads out before her.

“Three,” he whispered savagely; “nay, four at least.”

But she sat transfixed.  There they lay ­the soft-featured Nee-Koo; the gnarled old face of Gnob; Makamuk, grinning at her with his lifted upper lip; and lastly, Nossabok, his eyelid, up to its old trick, drooped on his girlish cheek in a suggestive wink.  There they lay, the firelight flashing upon and playing over them, and from each of them a widening circle dyed the snow to scarlet.

Thawed by the fire, the white crust gave way beneath the head of Gnob, which rolled over like a thing alive, spun around, and came to rest at her feet.  But she did not move.  Keesh, too, sat motionless, his eyes unblinking, centred steadfastly upon her.

Once, in the forest, an overburdened pine dropped its load of snow, and the echoes reverberated hollowly down the gorge; but neither stirred.  The short day had been waning fast, and darkness was wrapping round the camp when White Fang trotted up toward the fire.  He paused to reconnoitre, but not being driven back, came closer.  His nose shot swiftly to the side, nostrils a-tremble and bristles rising along the spine; and straight and true, he followed the sudden scent to his master’s head.  He sniffed it gingerly at first and licked the forehead with his red lolling tongue.  Then he sat abruptly down, pointed his nose up at the first faint star, and raised the long wolf-howl.

This brought Su-Su to herself.  She glanced across at Keesh, who had unsheathed the Russian knife and was watching her intently.  His face was firm and set, and in it she read the law.  Slipping back the hood of her parka, she bared her neck and rose to her feet There she paused and took a long look about her, at the rimming forest, at the faint stars in the sky, at the camp, at the snow-shoes in the snow ­a last long comprehensive look at life.  A light breeze stirred her hair from the side, and for the space of one deep breath she turned her head and followed it around until she met it full-faced.

Then she thought of her children, ever to be unborn, and she walked over to Keesh and said, “I am ready.”