wolf’s head.”
Then, suddenly, he remembered that this stone had fallen in answer to
his prayer; that it was the sign he had sought, and removed himself
swiftly, lest another that he had not sought should follow after it.
When he had run a few paces down the frozen slope, he came to a little
bay hollowed in the mountainside, and sat down, knowing that there he
was safe from falling stones. Confusedly, he began to think. What had
he asked the gods? Was it that he must fight Henga if the stone fell,
or that he must not fight him? Oh! now he remembered. It was that he
must fight as Aaka wished him to do, and a cold trembling shook his
limbs. To talk of fighting that raging giant was easy enough, but to
do it was another matter. Yet the gods had spoken, and he dared not
disobey the counsel that he had sought. Moreover, by sparing his life
from the falling stone, surely they meant that he would conquer Henga.
Or perhaps they only meant that they wished to see Henga tear him to
pieces for their sport, for the gods loved blood, and the gods were
cruel. Moreover, being evil themselves, would it not, perhaps, please
them to give victory to the evil man?
As he could not answer these questions, Wi rose and walked slowly
toward the beach, reflecting that probably he had seen his last of the
glacier and the Ice-gods who dwelt therein, he who was about to
challenge Henga to fight to the death. Presently he drew near to the
place where he had killed the wolf, and, looking up, was astonished to
see that someone was skinning the beast. Indeed, his fingers tightened
upon the haft of his spear, for this was a crime against the hunter’s
law—that one should steal what another had slain. Then the head of
the skinner appeared, and Wi smiled and loosened his grip of the
spear. For this was no thief, this was Pag, his slave who loved him.
A strange-looking man was Pag, a large-headed, one-eyed dwarf, great-chested, long-armed, powerful, but with thick little legs, no longer
than those of a child of eight years; a monstrous, flat-nosed, big-mouthed creature, who yet always wore upon his scarred countenance a
smiling, humorous air. It was told of Pag that, when he was born, a
long while before—for his youth had passed—he was so ugly that his
mother had thrown him out into the woods, fearing that his father, who
was absent killing seals farther up the beach, would be angry with her
for bearing such a son and purposing to tell him that the child had
been stillborn.
As it chanced, when the father came back, he went to search for the
infant’s bones, but in place of them found the babe still living, but
with one eye dashed out against a stone and its face much scarred.
Still, this being his first-born, and because he was a man with a
merciful heart, he brought it home into the hut, and forced the mother
to nurse it. This she did, like one who is frightened, though why she
was frightened she would not say, nor would his father ever tell where
and how he had found Pag. Thus it came about that Pag did not die, but
lived, and because of what his mother had done to him, always was a
hater of women; one, too, who lived much in the forest, for which
reason, or some other, he was named “wolf-man.” Moreover, he grew up
the cleverest of the tribe, for nature, which had made him ugly and
deformed, gave him more wits than the rest of them, and a sharp tongue
that he used to gibe with at the women.
Therefore they hated him also and made a plot against him, and when
there came a time of scarcity, persuaded the chief of the tribe of
that day, the father of Henga, that Pag was the cause of ill-fortune.
So that chief drove out Pag to starve. But when Pag was dying for lack
of food, Wi found him and brought him to his hut, where, although like
the rest of her sex Aaka loved him little, he remained as a slave; for
this was the law, that, if any saved a life, that life belonged to
him. In truth, however,
Then, suddenly, he remembered that this stone had fallen in answer to
his prayer; that it was the sign he had sought, and removed himself
swiftly, lest another that he had not sought should follow after it.
When he had run a few paces down the frozen slope, he came to a little
bay hollowed in the mountainside, and sat down, knowing that there he
was safe from falling stones. Confusedly, he began to think. What had
he asked the gods? Was it that he must fight Henga if the stone fell,
or that he must not fight him? Oh! now he remembered. It was that he
must fight as Aaka wished him to do, and a cold trembling shook his
limbs. To talk of fighting that raging giant was easy enough, but to
do it was another matter. Yet the gods had spoken, and he dared not
disobey the counsel that he had sought. Moreover, by sparing his life
from the falling stone, surely they meant that he would conquer Henga.
Or perhaps they only meant that they wished to see Henga tear him to
pieces for their sport, for the gods loved blood, and the gods were
cruel. Moreover, being evil themselves, would it not, perhaps, please
them to give victory to the evil man?
As he could not answer these questions, Wi rose and walked slowly
toward the beach, reflecting that probably he had seen his last of the
glacier and the Ice-gods who dwelt therein, he who was about to
challenge Henga to fight to the death. Presently he drew near to the
place where he had killed the wolf, and, looking up, was astonished to
see that someone was skinning the beast. Indeed, his fingers tightened
upon the haft of his spear, for this was a crime against the hunter’s
law—that one should steal what another had slain. Then the head of
the skinner appeared, and Wi smiled and loosened his grip of the
spear. For this was no thief, this was Pag, his slave who loved him.
A strange-looking man was Pag, a large-headed, one-eyed dwarf, great-chested, long-armed, powerful, but with thick little legs, no longer
than those of a child of eight years; a monstrous, flat-nosed, big-mouthed creature, who yet always wore upon his scarred countenance a
smiling, humorous air. It was told of Pag that, when he was born, a
long while before—for his youth had passed—he was so ugly that his
mother had thrown him out into the woods, fearing that his father, who
was absent killing seals farther up the beach, would be angry with her
for bearing such a son and purposing to tell him that the child had
been stillborn.
As it chanced, when the father came back, he went to search for the
infant’s bones, but in place of them found the babe still living, but
with one eye dashed out against a stone and its face much scarred.
Still, this being his first-born, and because he was a man with a
merciful heart, he brought it home into the hut, and forced the mother
to nurse it. This she did, like one who is frightened, though why she
was frightened she would not say, nor would his father ever tell where
and how he had found Pag. Thus it came about that Pag did not die, but
lived, and because of what his mother had done to him, always was a
hater of women; one, too, who lived much in the forest, for which
reason, or some other, he was named “wolf-man.” Moreover, he grew up
the cleverest of the tribe, for nature, which had made him ugly and
deformed, gave him more wits than the rest of them, and a sharp tongue
that he used to gibe with at the women.
Therefore they hated him also and made a plot against him, and when
there came a time of scarcity, persuaded the chief of the tribe of
that day, the father of Henga, that Pag was the cause of ill-fortune.
So that chief drove out Pag to starve. But when Pag was dying for lack
of food, Wi found him and brought him to his hut, where, although like
the rest of her sex Aaka loved him little, he remained as a slave; for
this was the law, that, if any saved a life, that life belonged to
him. In truth, however,
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