With head thrown back and
arms extended, he swayed to his climax.
'Behold! The spirits of our fathers have arisen and great deeds
are afoot this night!' He stepped back, and another young man
somewhat diffidently came forward, pushed on by his comrades. He
towered a full head above them, his broad chest defiantly bared
to the frost. He swung tentatively from one foot to the other.
Words halted upon his tongue, and he was ill at ease. His face
was horrible to look upon, for it had at one time been half torn
away by some terrific blow. At last he struck his breast with his
clenched fist, drawing sound as from a drum, and his voice
rumbled forth as does the surf from an ocean cavern.
'I am the Bear,--the Silver-Tip and the Son of the Silver-Tip!
When my voice was yet as a girl's, I slew the lynx, the moose,
and the cariboo; when it whistled like the wolverines from under
a cache, I crossed the Mountains of the South and slew three of
the White Rivers; when it became as the roar of the Chinook, I
met the bald-faced grizzly, but gave no trail.' At this he
paused, his hand significantly sweeping across his hideous scars.
'I am not as the Fox. My tongue is frozen like the river.
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