over,” said Whaka. “That man whom Henga embraces is dead.”
Pag, who was standing beside him, smote him on the mouth, saying:
“Is it so? Look, raven, look!”
As he spoke, Wi slipped from the grasp of Henga as an eel slips from a
child’s hand. Again Henga caught him by the head, but Wi’s hair having
been cut and his scalp greased, he could not hold him. Then the giant
smote at him with his great fist, a mighty blow that caught Wi upon
the forehead and felled him to the ground. Before he could rise, Henga
hurled himself onto him and the two struggled there upon the sand.
Never before had the tribe seen a fight like this, nor did tradition
tell of such a one. They writhed, they twisted, they rolled over, now
this one uppermost, and now that one. Henga tried to get Wi by the
throat, but his hands would not hold on the oiled skin, and always the
hunter escaped from that deadly grasp, and twice or thrice found
opportunity to pound Henga’s face with his fist.
Presently they were seen to rise together, the giant’s arms still
about Wi, whom he dared not loose because he was weaponless, while the
ax still hung to the hunter’s wrist. They wrestled, staggering to and
fro, covered with blood and sand and sweat. The watchers shook their
heads, for how, thought they, could any man stand against the weight
and strength of Henga? But Pag, noting everything with his quick eye,
whispered to Aaka, who forgetting her hate in her trouble and fear,
had drawn near to him:
“Keep courage, woman. The salmon does its work. Henga tires.”
It was true. The grip of the giant loosened, his breath came in short
gasps, moreover, that leg into which the ax of Wi had cut began to
fail and he dared not put all his weight upon it. Still, gathering up
his strength, with a mighty effort he cast Wi from him with such force
that the hunter fell to the ground and lay there a moment, as though
he were stunned or the breath had been shaken out of him.
Now Moananga groaned aloud, waiting to see Henga spring upon his foe’s
prostrate form and stamp him to death. But some change came over the
man. It was as though a sudden terror had taken him. Or perhaps he
thought that Wi was dead. If so he did not wait to look, but turning,
ran toward the cave. Wi, recovering his wits or his breath, or both,
sat up and saw. Then, with a shout, he leapt to his feet and sped
after Henga, followed by all the people; yes, even by Urk the Aged,
who hobbled along leaning on his wand of office.
Henga had a long start, but at every step his hurt leg grew weaker,
and Wi sped after him like a deer. At the very mouth of the cave, he
overtook him, and those who followed saw the flash of a falling ax and
heard the thud of its blow upon the back of Henga, who staggered
forward. Then the pair of them vanished into the shadow of the cave,
while the people halted without awaiting the issue, whatever it might
be.
A little while later, there was a stir in the shadows; out of them a
man appeared. It was Wi, who bore something in his hands, Wi with the
red ax still hanging from his right arm. He staggered forward; a ray
from the setting sun pierced the mists and struck full upon him and
that which he carried. Lo! it was the huge head of Henga.
For a moment Wi stood still like one bemused, while the tribe shouted
their welcome to him as chief by right of conquest. Then he swooned
and fell forward into the arms of Pag who, seeing that he was about to
fall, thrust himself past Aaka and caught him.
Because it was nigh at hand, Wi was carried into the cave, whence, now
that he was fallen the body of the giant Henga was dragged as though
it had been that of a dog and afterward, by the command of Wi, borne
to the foot of the glacier and as he had vowed, laid there as an
offering to the Ice-gods. Only some of those whom he had wronged and
who hated him took his head and, climbing a dead pine that stood near
by of which the top had been
Pag, who was standing beside him, smote him on the mouth, saying:
“Is it so? Look, raven, look!”
As he spoke, Wi slipped from the grasp of Henga as an eel slips from a
child’s hand. Again Henga caught him by the head, but Wi’s hair having
been cut and his scalp greased, he could not hold him. Then the giant
smote at him with his great fist, a mighty blow that caught Wi upon
the forehead and felled him to the ground. Before he could rise, Henga
hurled himself onto him and the two struggled there upon the sand.
Never before had the tribe seen a fight like this, nor did tradition
tell of such a one. They writhed, they twisted, they rolled over, now
this one uppermost, and now that one. Henga tried to get Wi by the
throat, but his hands would not hold on the oiled skin, and always the
hunter escaped from that deadly grasp, and twice or thrice found
opportunity to pound Henga’s face with his fist.
Presently they were seen to rise together, the giant’s arms still
about Wi, whom he dared not loose because he was weaponless, while the
ax still hung to the hunter’s wrist. They wrestled, staggering to and
fro, covered with blood and sand and sweat. The watchers shook their
heads, for how, thought they, could any man stand against the weight
and strength of Henga? But Pag, noting everything with his quick eye,
whispered to Aaka, who forgetting her hate in her trouble and fear,
had drawn near to him:
“Keep courage, woman. The salmon does its work. Henga tires.”
It was true. The grip of the giant loosened, his breath came in short
gasps, moreover, that leg into which the ax of Wi had cut began to
fail and he dared not put all his weight upon it. Still, gathering up
his strength, with a mighty effort he cast Wi from him with such force
that the hunter fell to the ground and lay there a moment, as though
he were stunned or the breath had been shaken out of him.
Now Moananga groaned aloud, waiting to see Henga spring upon his foe’s
prostrate form and stamp him to death. But some change came over the
man. It was as though a sudden terror had taken him. Or perhaps he
thought that Wi was dead. If so he did not wait to look, but turning,
ran toward the cave. Wi, recovering his wits or his breath, or both,
sat up and saw. Then, with a shout, he leapt to his feet and sped
after Henga, followed by all the people; yes, even by Urk the Aged,
who hobbled along leaning on his wand of office.
Henga had a long start, but at every step his hurt leg grew weaker,
and Wi sped after him like a deer. At the very mouth of the cave, he
overtook him, and those who followed saw the flash of a falling ax and
heard the thud of its blow upon the back of Henga, who staggered
forward. Then the pair of them vanished into the shadow of the cave,
while the people halted without awaiting the issue, whatever it might
be.
A little while later, there was a stir in the shadows; out of them a
man appeared. It was Wi, who bore something in his hands, Wi with the
red ax still hanging from his right arm. He staggered forward; a ray
from the setting sun pierced the mists and struck full upon him and
that which he carried. Lo! it was the huge head of Henga.
For a moment Wi stood still like one bemused, while the tribe shouted
their welcome to him as chief by right of conquest. Then he swooned
and fell forward into the arms of Pag who, seeing that he was about to
fall, thrust himself past Aaka and caught him.
Because it was nigh at hand, Wi was carried into the cave, whence, now
that he was fallen the body of the giant Henga was dragged as though
it had been that of a dog and afterward, by the command of Wi, borne
to the foot of the glacier and as he had vowed, laid there as an
offering to the Ice-gods. Only some of those whom he had wronged and
who hated him took his head and, climbing a dead pine that stood near
by of which the top had been
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