312 



Maftvoc/c of 

 ffie/cebergs 



fmtit 



twilight a fisherman — kind-hearted and 

 generous, as they all are — had come to leave 

 a couple of fresh cod and hurry away again 

 on his long, weary pull up the Arm. Daddy 

 meant to cook the fish, but was too weak 

 when the time came, and left them in a bar- 

 rel in his little shed. Then came Tomah 

 with his stew, and the old man ate and felt 

 better. It was midnight when they had 

 smoked a pipe of Tomah's dried willow bark 

 and traded the scant news from the two ends 

 of the wilderness and turned in to sleep. 



A terrible racket in the shed roused them 

 — whack ! bang ! thump ! Something was 

 out there knocking everything to pieces. 

 Daddy, under the bedclothes, began to 

 shiver and wail that the devil himself had 

 come to fetch him. Tomah tumbled out of 

 his caribou skins and jumped up like a jack- 

 in-a-box, just as a barrel was flung against 

 the door with a crash that made it shiver. In 

 the appalling silence that followed they 

 heard the p'chap, p'chap of some huge beast 

 crunching the codfish between his jaws. 



Tomah had brought his gun this time. 



is 



nffi» 





