Nam-Bok whirled upon him in anger. “Had I made smallnotches！ Listen， Koogah， thou scratcher of bone！ If I hadmade small notches， neither the stick， nor twenty sticks，could have borne them—nay， not all the driftwood of all thebeaches between this village and the next. And if all of you，the women and children as well， were twenty times as many，and if you had twenty hands each， and in each hand a stickand a knife， still the notches could not be cut for the peopleI saw， so many were they and so fast did they come and go.”
“There cannot be so many people in all the world，”
Opee-Kwan objected， for he was stunned and his mindcould not grasp such magnitude of numbers.
“What dost thou know of all the world and how large itis？” Nam-Bok demanded.
“But there cannot be so many people in one place.”
“Who art thou to say what can be and what cannot be？”
“It stands to reason there cannot be so many people inone place. Their canoes would clutter the sea till there wasno room. And they could empty the sea each day of itsfish， and they would not all be fed.”
“So it would seem，” Nam-Bok made final answer； “yet itwas so. With my own eyes I saw， and flung my stick away.”
He yawned heavily and rose to his feet. “I have paddledfar. The day has been long， and I am tired. Now I willsleep， and to-morrow we will have further talk upon thethings I have seen.”
Bask-Wah-Wan， hobbling fearfully in advance， proudindeed， yet awed by her wonderful son， led him to herigloo and stowed him away among the greasy， ill-smellingfurs. But the men lingered by the fire， and a council washeld wherein was there much whispering and low-voiceddiscussion.
An hour passed， and a second， and Nam-Bok slept， andthe talk went on. The evening sun dipped toward thenorthwest， and at eleven at night was nearly due north.
Then it was that the head man and the bone-scratcherseparated themselves from the council and aroused Nam-Bok. He blinked up into their faces and turned on his sideto sleep again. Opee-Kwan gripped him by the arm andkindly but firmly shook his senses back into him.
“Come， Nam-Bok， arise！” he commanded. “It be time.”
“Another feast？” Nam-Bok cried. “Nay， I am not hungry.
Go on with the eating and let me sleep.”
“Time to be gone！” Koogah thundered.
But Opee-Kwan spoke more softly. “Thou wast bidarkamatewith me when we were boys，” he said. “Together wefirst chased the seal and drew the salmon from the traps.
And thou didst drag me back to life， Nam-Bok， when thesea closed over me and I was sucked down to the blackrocks. Together we hungered and bore the chill of thefrost， and together we crawled beneath the one fur and layclose to each other. And because of these things， and thekindness in which I stood to thee， it grieves me sore thatthou shouldst return such a remarkable liar. We cannotunderstand， and our heads be dizzy with the things thouhast spoken. It is not good， and there has been much talkin the council. Wherefore we send thee away， that ourheads may remain clear and strong and be not troubled bythe unaccountable things.”
“These things thou speakest of be shadows，” Koogahtook up the strain. “From the shadow-world thou hastbrought them， and to the shadow-world thou must returnthem. Thy bidarka be ready， and the tribespeople wait.
They may not sleep until thou art gone.”
Nam-Bok was perplexed， but hearkened to the voice ofthe head man.
“If thou art Nam-Bok，” Opee-Kwan was saying， “thou arta fearful and most wonderful liar； if thou art the shadowof Nam-Bok， then thou speakest of shadows， concerningwhich it is not good that living men have knowledge. Thisgreat village thou hast spoken of we deem the village ofshadows. Therein flutter the souls of the dead； for thedead be many and the living few. The dead do not comeback. Never have the dead come back—save thou with thywonder-tales. It is not meet that the dead come back， andshould we permit it， great trouble may be our portion.”
Nam-Bok knew his people well and was aware that thevoice of the council was supreme. So he allowed himself tobe led down to the water’s edge， where he was put aboardhis bidarka and a paddle thrust into his hand. A stray wildfowlhonked somewhere to seaward， and the surf brokelimply and hollowly on the sand. A dim twilight broodedover land and water， and in the north the sun smouldered，vague and troubled， and draped about with blood-redmists. The gulls were flying low. The off-shore wind blewkeen and chill， and the black-massed clouds behind it gavepromise of bitter weather.
“Out of the sea thou earnest，” Opee-Kwan chantedoracularly， “and back into the sea thou goest. Thus is balanceachieved and all things brought to law.”
Bask-Wah-Wan limped to the froth-mark and cried， “Ibless thee， Nam-Bok， for that thou remembered me.”
But Koogah， shoving Nam-Bok clear of the beach， torethe shawl from her shoulders and flung it into the bidarka.
“It is cold in the long nights，” she wailed； “and the frostis prone to nip old bones.”
“The thing is a shadow，” the bone-scratcher answered，“and shadows cannot keep thee warm.”
Nam-Bok stood up that his voice might carry. “O Bask-Wah-Wan， mother that bore me！” he called. “Listen to thewords of Nam-Bok， thy son. There be room in his bidarkafor two， and he would that thou camest with him. For hisjourney is to where there are fish and oil in plenty. Therethe frost comes not， and life is easy， and the things of irondo the work of men. Wilt thou come， O Bask-Wah-Wan？”
She debated a moment， while the bidarka drifted swiftlyfrom her， then raised her voice to a quavering treble. “Iam old， Nam-Bok， and soon I shall pass down among theshadows. But I have no wish to go before my time. I amold， Nam-Bok， and I am afraid.”
A shaft of light shot across the dim-lit sea and wrappedboat and man in a splendor of red and gold. Then a hushfell upon the fisherfolk， and only was heard the moan ofthe off-shore wind and the cries of the gulls flying low inthe air.
