stabbing at it with wicked-looking spears of bone. When the sleds came upon the scene, the New Yorkers quickly de-toured and headed away. One encounter with spear-wielding huntsmen had been enough for a while. The hunters were too busy with the walrus to pay attention to the party of travelers that had come upon them. Jim looked back, awed by the bulk of the beleaguered creature that reared nearly a dozen feet into the air, snorting and howling at its attackers, and then flopped helplessly down on the ice again as the hunters closed in for the kill. Jim felt a pang of sadness as he watched the nightmare scene of death being enacted on the ice. The walrus had seemed so gentle, so friendly. And now here he was, bleeding from a dozen wounds, succumbing to the onslaught of men.
Jim forced himself to be realistic. Men must eat. There were no hydroponics laboratories on the ice pack, no factories for the manufacture of synthetic foods. The walrus was food-thousands of pounds of it. His tusks, his bones, would all be useful as knives and utensils; his thick hide would go for clothing, his fat for oil, his very sinews for rope and for cord. Every day was a struggle for life, in the ice-world, and where man and walrus shared the same habitat, only one outcome was possible.
The struggle seemed over now. The walrus lay still.
Two of the hunters detached themselves from the group and began to run after the sleds, shouting.
"They see us," Jim said. "What do they want?"
"They're waving to us," Dave Ellis said. "They want us to stop. Here we go again!"
"Halt the sled," Dr. Barnes ordered. "Let's see what they want."
Dave looked startled. "But…"
"They aren't armed. Halt the sled!"
Dave eased the sled to a halt. Nearby, Ted Callison had brought the other sled to a stop also. The two huntsmen, panting and gasping, came running up alongside.
"Strangers!" they called. "Wait, strangers! Wait!"
They spoke English. Simply from their appearance, they seemed as far beyond the unfriendly Dooney folk of the shore as the Dooneys had been beyond the primitive, monosyllabic hunters that had been encountered farther inland. These two were tall and straight-backed and clean-shaven, and seemed almost like New Yorkers dressed in fur garments, rather than savages of fierce and bestial ways.
One of them, a lanky, blue-eyed man of about thirty, his lean face tanned and wind-toughened, called out to them, "Why do you flee? Claim your guest-rights!"
"We do not understand," Dr. Barnes replied.
"There has been a kill," the blue-eyed hunter answered, pointing to the fallen walrus. "You are strangers come among us. The law of hospitality requires us to feed you. Why flee, then?"
Dr. Barnes frowned. "We come from far off," he said slowly. "We do not know your ways. The last people we met had no law of hospitality. They attacked us and took a life."
"Who were they? What was their tribe-name?"
"They called themselves the Dooney folk."
" Pah ! Inlanders! Savages!" the blue-eyed man exclaimed, while his silent companion shook his fist angrily in the general direction of the shore. "You can expect no better from them. But we are different. Come. You are our guests."
9
IT CANNOT BE DONE
It was unthinkable to refuse. The blue-eyed man, who gave his name as Kennart and said he was son of the chief of the Jersey people, was obviously not expecting no for an answer. Dr. Barnes signaled to Ted, and both sleds reversed and headed back toward the hunters.
It was a pleasant novelty not to have to defend themselves against these people of the ice-world. It was even more agreeable to be treated as guests, even if they had little choice about accepting Jersey hospitality.
They returned to the site of the walrus kill, where two dozen Jersey hunters were slashing up the bulky corpse even more skillfully than the inlanders had sliced up their kill of moose. The Jerseys stared in surprise and fascination at the sleds, but there was no trace of fear or suspicion about
Jim forced himself to be realistic. Men must eat. There were no hydroponics laboratories on the ice pack, no factories for the manufacture of synthetic foods. The walrus was food-thousands of pounds of it. His tusks, his bones, would all be useful as knives and utensils; his thick hide would go for clothing, his fat for oil, his very sinews for rope and for cord. Every day was a struggle for life, in the ice-world, and where man and walrus shared the same habitat, only one outcome was possible.
The struggle seemed over now. The walrus lay still.
Two of the hunters detached themselves from the group and began to run after the sleds, shouting.
"They see us," Jim said. "What do they want?"
"They're waving to us," Dave Ellis said. "They want us to stop. Here we go again!"
"Halt the sled," Dr. Barnes ordered. "Let's see what they want."
Dave looked startled. "But…"
"They aren't armed. Halt the sled!"
Dave eased the sled to a halt. Nearby, Ted Callison had brought the other sled to a stop also. The two huntsmen, panting and gasping, came running up alongside.
"Strangers!" they called. "Wait, strangers! Wait!"
They spoke English. Simply from their appearance, they seemed as far beyond the unfriendly Dooney folk of the shore as the Dooneys had been beyond the primitive, monosyllabic hunters that had been encountered farther inland. These two were tall and straight-backed and clean-shaven, and seemed almost like New Yorkers dressed in fur garments, rather than savages of fierce and bestial ways.
One of them, a lanky, blue-eyed man of about thirty, his lean face tanned and wind-toughened, called out to them, "Why do you flee? Claim your guest-rights!"
"We do not understand," Dr. Barnes replied.
"There has been a kill," the blue-eyed hunter answered, pointing to the fallen walrus. "You are strangers come among us. The law of hospitality requires us to feed you. Why flee, then?"
Dr. Barnes frowned. "We come from far off," he said slowly. "We do not know your ways. The last people we met had no law of hospitality. They attacked us and took a life."
"Who were they? What was their tribe-name?"
"They called themselves the Dooney folk."
" Pah ! Inlanders! Savages!" the blue-eyed man exclaimed, while his silent companion shook his fist angrily in the general direction of the shore. "You can expect no better from them. But we are different. Come. You are our guests."
9
IT CANNOT BE DONE
It was unthinkable to refuse. The blue-eyed man, who gave his name as Kennart and said he was son of the chief of the Jersey people, was obviously not expecting no for an answer. Dr. Barnes signaled to Ted, and both sleds reversed and headed back toward the hunters.
It was a pleasant novelty not to have to defend themselves against these people of the ice-world. It was even more agreeable to be treated as guests, even if they had little choice about accepting Jersey hospitality.
They returned to the site of the walrus kill, where two dozen Jersey hunters were slashing up the bulky corpse even more skillfully than the inlanders had sliced up their kill of moose. The Jerseys stared in surprise and fascination at the sleds, but there was no trace of fear or suspicion about
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