“Not until after the test. When the axe flies back threetimes from my neck， then will I give you the secret of thewords.”
“But if the medicine is not good medicine？” Makamukqueried anxiously.
Subienkow turned upon him wrathfully.
“My medicine is always good. However， if it is not good，then do by me as you have done to the others. Cut me upa bit at a time， even as you have cut him up.” He pointedto the Cossack. “The medicine is now cool. Thus， I rub iton my neck， saying this further medicine.”
With great gravity he slowly intoned a line of the“Marseillaise，” at the same time rubbing the villainousbrew thoroughly into his neck.
An outcry interrupted his play-acting. The giant Cossack，with a last resurgence of his tremendous vitality， had arisento his knees. Laughter and cries of surprise and applausearose from the Nulatos， as Big Ivan began flinging himselfabout in the snow with mighty spasms.
Subienkow was made sick by the sight， but he masteredhis qualms and made believe to be angry.
“This will not do，” he said. “Finish him， and then wewill make the test. Here， you， Yakaga， see that his noiseceases.”
While this was being done， Subienkow turned to Makamuk.
“And remember， you are to strike hard. This is not babywork.
Here， take the axe and strike the log， so that I cansee you strike like a man.”
Makamuk obeyed， striking twice， precisely and withvigour， cutting out a large chip.
“It is well.” Subienkow looked about him at the circleof savage faces that somehow seemed to symbolize thewall of savagery that had hemmed him about ever sincethe Czar’s police had first arrested him in Warsaw. “Takeyour axe， Makamuk， and stand so. I shall lie down. WhenI raise my hand， strike， and strike with all your might. Andbe careful that no one stands behind you. The medicine isgood， and the axe may bounce from off my neck and rightout of your hands.”
He looked at the two sleds， with the dogs in harness，loaded with furs and fish. His rifle lay on top of the beaverskins. The six hunters who were to act as his guard stoodby the sleds.
“Where is the girl？” the Pole demanded. “Bring her upto the sleds before the test goes on.”
When this had been carried out， Subienkow lay downin the snow， resting his head on the log like a tired childabout to sleep. He had lived so many dreary years that hewas indeed tired.
“I laugh at you and your strength， O Makamuk，” he said.
“Strike， and strike hard.”
He lifted his hand. Makamuk swung the axe， a broadaxefor the squaring of logs. The bright steel flashed through thefrosty air， poised for a perceptible instant above Makamuk’shead， then descended upon Subienkow’s bare neck. Clearthrough flesh and bone it cut its way， biting deeply into thelog beneath. The amazed savages saw the head bounce ayard away from the blood-spouting trunk.
There was a great bewilderment and silence， whileslowly it began to dawn in their minds that there had beenno medicine. The fur-thief had outwitted them. Alone，of all their prisoners， he had escaped the torture. Thathad been the stake for which he played. A great roar oflaughter went up. Makamuk bowed his head in shame.
The fur-thief had fooled him. He had lost face before allhis people. Still they continued to roar out their laughter.
Makamuk turned， and with bowed head stalked away. Heknew that thenceforth he would be no longer known asMakamuk. He would be Lost Face； the record of his shamewould be with him until he died； and whenever the tribesgathered in the spring for the salmon， or in the summerfor the trading， the story would pass back and forth acrossthe camp-fires of how the fur-thief died peaceably， at asingle stroke， by the hand of Lost Face.
“Who was Lost Face？” he could hear， in anticipation，some insolent young buck demand， “Oh， Lost Face，”
would be the answer， “he who once was Makamuk in thedays before he cut off the fur-thief’s head.”
