CHAPTER VI.
A LIBATION TO THE TOTEM.
Mr. Dacre rose to his feet and began scrambling forward over the roughice. Slipping and bumping, he pushed toward the stricken bull, withthe two boys close behind him.
"He looks ready for a fight," whispered Tom.
"He sure does. Wow! Look at those tusks! I'd hate to have them biteinto me," rejoined his brother.
"Halt!" cried out Mr. Dacre suddenly.
Before them was the roaring bull. Behind him were grouped hiscompanions. They appeared to be unsettled whether to fly or givebattle. Apparently they were waiting to see what action their leaderwould take.
The boys came to a standstill. As they did so, Mr. Dacre raised hisrifle for a second shot. But as he was about to shoot somethingjammed in the repeating mechanism of his weapon. At the same time,with a roar of rage, the wounded bull threw himself forward on hisawkward flippers.
"They're going to attack us!" called Tom. "Why don't you fire?"
"I can't. Something's gone wrong with the magazine of my rifle!"explained his uncle. "You boys run for the boat. These fellows areugly customers when they get roused."
But Tom's automatic revolver was out of his pocket in a jiffy. Heleveled it and then pulled the trigger. There was a spiteful crack asthe weapon began shooting lead. The big walrus sank to the surface ofthe floe with an earpiercing squeal, but wounded as he was, he turnedand managed to propel himself along over the ice on his clumsyflippers.
"After him. He's the prize of the herd!" cried Mr. Dacre.
As their leader had turned tail, the others had swung round. Now theirgreat bulks were in full retreat across the ice. The boys ran forwardwhile Mr. Dacre struggled to get his rifle into working order oncemore.
Tom swiftly reloaded and threw up his automatic. But as he ran his eyealong the barrel he dropped the weapon with a gasp of alarm.
At the landing place to which he had been directed was Sandy, standingerect in the boat. Toward him, down the valley leading to the break inthe ice, wallowed the retreating walrus herd. The boy was directly intheir path.
"Look out! Look out!" screamed Tom, but Sandy, if he heard him, paidno attention.
Tom saw the Scotch lad pick up an oar and stand brandishing it as theherd, in full retreat and snorting alarmedly, bore down upon him.Behind them lumbered the great creature that carried the bullets ofMr. Dacre and Tom in his gigantic carcass.
Bloodstains showed that the monster had been severely wounded, but Tomdid not dare risk another shot at it. Right in line of fire with itwas Sandy's upstanding form.
"Gracious, they'll charge right down on him and maybe stave the boat!"cried Tom, almost sick with apprehension.
But Sandy appeared quite unaware of his danger. With uplifted oar heawaited the oncoming of the vanguard of the retreating herd. But itnow appeared that they did not intend to attack the boat.
With noisy splashes they flopped into the water all about it, whileSandy, in a frenzy of excitement, waved his extemporized weapon andyelled at the top of his voice.
"Let 'em all come! Hooray!" he shouted, and whacked one of the animalsbetween the eyes as it plunged below.
He actually appeared delighted at the novel combat.
"Whoop! Overboard with ye!" he shouted shrilly, "get along now"; anddown would come the oar with a resounding thwack!
Mr. Dacre and Jack came running up. The former had got his rifle undercontrol again.
"The boy's gone crazy!" he cried. "If he doesn't look out, one ofthose creatures will turn on him and then there'll be trouble."
"Look! Look!" broke in Jack suddenly.
The wounded bull had reached the water's edge. He raised his head andsnorted as he glared with angry eyes at the upstanding boy. Then, witha snort, he lunged downward into the water out of sight.
"It's gone! The prize one's gone!" shouted Jack.
"What a shame," echoed Tom, and then the next instant, "No, see there!He's coming up again."
Sure enough, the next moment a bulky, hideous head appeared above thewater close to the boat. The animal was gnashing his teeth as ifdetermined to wreak vengeance on one at least of the party that hadattacked him and his companions.
"Hoots!" yelled Sandy. "Take that, you old oomeroon!"
He brought down his oar on the walrus, but the creature caught theblade in his tusks and split it with a rending sound as if it had beenmerely matchwood.
"Look out for him!" shouted Mr. Dacre as, having accomplished thisdestruction, the monster dived once again. "He hasn't gone yet. Lookbehind you!"
But although Sandy turned quickly, he was not swift enough. The greatsea monster had only dived a few feet. Now he came up like a batteringram. He drove his big, fleshy nose right against the boat's side. Hadthe craft not been of the stoutest construction, it must have beenstove in.
As it was, caught unawares, the shock threw Sandy from his feet. Hemade an ineffectual effort to save himself, but the next instant,while his friends set up a shout of dismay, he toppled overboard intothe cold water which was now alive with bobbing black heads.
Directly they had recovered from their first shock at the accident,the boys, followed by Mr. Dacre, set off faster than ever over therough ice. As they ran they shouted encouragement to their chum.Sandy's head could be seen in the water. He was striking out for theside of the boat. But behind him came the blunt head of the bigwalrus. The others appeared to be taking no notice, leaving the taskof demolishing the boat and Sandy to the wounded animal.
"Good boy, Sandy! Strike out! You'll make it!" roared Tom, alla-quiver with apprehension.
"Swim for your life, my boy!" shouted Mr. Dacre. "Make the boat andyou'll be all right. I'll attend to the walrus."
Sandy was a good swimmer and he struck out valiantly. But the monsterhead, with its huge gleaming tusks, was terribly close behind him ashe made his way through the water.
Mr. Dacre raised his rifle. He was going to try a desperate shot. Thehead of the walrus, huge though it was, was moving too swiftly tooffer a good target, and yet it was the only chance to save Sandy.Steadying his aim with an effort, Mr. Dacre drew a careful bead on thecreature, aiming for a spot between the eyes.
Between his sights appeared the oily head, the bristling whiskers andthe fierce tusks of the creature. He pulled the trigger. In the churnof the water and the wave of spray that succeeded the sharp report, itcould be seen that the wounded walrus had been struck again and hadsunk from sight. But his tenacity of life had been such that they werestill by no means sure that he was dead.
"Get into the boat! The boat!" called Mr. Dacre as he saw theblood-stained swirl of waters where the walrus had last been seen.
Sandy was clinging to the bulwark of the craft, and after somedifficulty climbed on board. Just as he reached safety, there came ashout from his friends.
"Behind you! Behind you!" shrieked Tom.
Sandy looked. Coming toward the boat was once more a swirl of water.The old bull was rushing down on the boat, rearing his head aloft. Hisugly creased neck tilted back. His great tusks impended above theboat's side ready to crush on it as a terrier seizes on a rat. Butbefore the ponderous jaws could close, "Spit!" came from Tom'sautomatic, and dazed and finally wounded unto death, the huge bullslipped back harmlessly into the water.
As the craft careened in the swell of the sinking body, Sandy almostwent overboard for a second time. But he managed to save himself justas the carcass came bobbing up alongside. He seized the boat hook,jabbing it down into the great body, and gave a yell of triumph.
"I got him," he yelled, as the others came running and stumblingtoward him. "Come on, and get your dead walrus!"
A cheer answered him. Not long after, with the shivering Sandy wrappedin what dry clothing they could spare, the boat, with its prize intow, was sculled back to the ship where, as you may imagine, all handshad a thrilling tale to tell.
Sandy was made to gulp down boiling coffee and was hustled into achange of garments, while the others exam
ined the body of the monsterin whose slaying it might be said that they all had had a more or lessactive share. Tom felt not a little proud of his part as they gazed atthe dead bull and admired his huge proportions. Soon Sandy joinedthem.
"Aweel, I'm thinking that we'll have a christening the noo," said he.
While the sailors were skinning the walrus and cutting out the fourfoot tusks, Sandy snatched up some strips of blubber and vanished. Ina quarter of an hour or so he appeared with a cooking pan in hishands. Its contents was steaming and emitted a rank and fishy odor.
"What in the world have you got there?" Tom wanted to know.
"Give you three guesses," rejoined Sandy.
"It smells like sixty," observed Jack.
"Yes; keep to leeward of us, my lad," put in the captain.
"Well, what is it?" asked Mr. Dacre.
"Soup,--walrus soup," guessed Jack.
"If it is, I don't want any of it," declared Tom, sniffing the fishyodor.
"Don't worry, _you_ won't get any," chortled Sandy.
"What are you going to do with it?" asked Jack.
"As I observed some time ago, we'll have a christening the noo," wasthe rejoinder.
"A christening!"
"Aye! That native said that old 'Frozen Face' needed a shampoo wi'seal oil, but I'm thinking that walrus oil will be just as good orbetter."
A shout broke from the boys.
"Good for you, Sandy," cried Tom. "Come on, we'll give the old boy abath in it. He surely looked out well for you to-day."
While their elders looked on amusedly, the lads doused the longsuffering totem with the ill-smelling oil and danced around the agedfigure with mock solemnity, intoning what was meant to be a mysticchant:
"_Oh, totem in our hours of ease,_ _Uncertain, coy and hard to please;_ _Now you have had your walrus bath,_ _Be nice and kind, and smile and laugh;_ _And kindly watch our destiny,_ _Northward, toward the Arctic Sea._"