The Circle

For a long time he recalled the days of his youth, until the fire grew cold and the frost bit deeper. He placed two sticks in the fire this time. Then he figured how much life was left by the amount of wood that remained in the pile. If Sit-cum-ha had remembered her grandfather, and gathered a larger armful, his hours would have been longer. It would have been easy. But she was always a selfish child. She had not honored her ancestors from the time the Beaver, son of the son of Zing-ha, first looked at her. Well, what did it matter? Had he not done the same in his own quick youth? For a while he listened to the silent forest. Perhaps the heart of his son might soften. Then he would return with the dogs to take his old father with the tribe to where the caribou ran thick and the fat hung heavy upon them.

He strained his ears. There was not a sound to be heard. Nothing. He alone took breath in the middle of the great stillness. It was very lonely. Wait! What was that? His body suddenly felt cold. A familiar cry broke the silent air, and it was close to him. Then his darkened eyes again saw the old moose — the bloody sides, the torn legs, the great branching horns, fighting to the last. He saw the flashing forms of gray, the bright eyes, the dripping tongues and the sharp teeth. And he saw the circle move closer until it became a dark point in the middle of the stamped snow.

A cold nose pushed against his face and at its touch his soul leaped back to the present. His hand shot into the fire and dragged out a burning stick. Overcome for the moment by his fear of man, the beast drew back, raising a call to his brothers. Greedily they answered, until a ring of gray was stretched around him. The old man listened to the steady breathing of this circle. He waved his flaming stick wildly, but the beasts refused to scatter. Now one moved slowly forward, dragging his legs behind. Now a second, now a third. But now, not one moved back from his flaming stick. Why should he so desire life? He asked, and dropped the burning stick into the snow. It made a slight noise and then there was no more fire. The circle murmured uncertainly but held its place. Again he saw the last stand of the old moose, and Koskoosh dropped his head hopelessly on his knees. What did it matter? Was it not the law of life?