“A bidarka， is it not so？ Look！ a bidarka， and one manwho drives clumsily with a paddle！”
Old Bask-Wah-Wan rose to her knees， trembling withweakness and eagerness， and gazed out over the sea.
“Nam-Bok was ever clumsy at the paddle，” shemaundered reminiscently， shading the sun from her eyesand staring across the silver-spilled water. “Nam-Bok wasever clumsy. I remember....”
But the women and children laughed loudly， and therewas a gentle mockery in their laughter， and her voicedwindled till her lips moved without sound.
Koogah lifted his grizzled head from his bone-carvingand followed the path of her eyes. Except when wide yawstook it off its course， a bidarka was heading in for thebeach. Its occupant was paddling with more strengththan dexterity， and made his approach along the zigzagline of most resistance. Koogah’s head dropped to hiswork again， and on the ivory tusk between his knees hescratched the dorsal fin of a fish the like of which neverswam in the sea.
“It is doubtless the man from the next village，” he saidfinally， “come to consult with me about the marking ofthings on bone. And the man is a clumsy man. He willnever know how.”
“It is Nam-Bok，” old Bask-Wah-Wan repeated. “ShouldI not know my son？” she demanded shrilly. “I say， and I sayagain， it is Nam-Bok.”
“And so thou hast said these many summers，” one of thewomen chided softly. “Ever when the ice passed out of thesea hast thou sat and watched through the long day， sayingat each chance canoe， ‘This is Nam-Bok.’ Nam-Bok isdead， O Bask-Wah-Wan， and the dead do not come back.
It cannot be that the dead come back.”
“Nam-Bok！” the old woman cried， so loud and clear thatthe whole village was startled and looked at her.
She struggled to her feet and tottered down the sand.
She stumbled over a baby lying in the sun， and the motherhushed its crying and hurled harsh words after the oldwoman， who took no notice. The children ran down thebeach in advance of her， and as the man in the bidarkadrew closer， nearly capsizing with one of his ill-directedstrokes， the women followed. Koogah dropped his walrustusk and went also， leaning heavily upon his staff， and afterhim loitered the men in twos and threes.
The bidarka turned broadside and the ripple of surfthreatened to swamp it， only a naked boy ran into thewater and pulled the bow high up on the sand. The manstood up and sent a questing glance along the line ofvillagers. A rainbow sweater， dirty and the worse for wear，clung loosely to his broad shoulders， and a red cottonhandkerchief was knotted in sailor fashion about histhroat. A fisherman’s tam-o’-shanter on his close-clippedhead， and dungaree trousers and heavy brogans， completedhis outfit.
But he was none the less a striking personage to thesesimple fisherfolk of the great Yukon Delta， who， all theirlives， had stared out on Bering Sea and in that time seenbut two white men， —the census enumerator and a lostJesuit priest. They were a poor people， with neither goldin the ground nor valuable furs in hand， so the whites hadpassed them afar. Also， the Yukon， through the thousandsof years， had shoaled that portion of the sea with thedetritus of Alaska till vessels grounded out of sight of land.
So the sodden coast， with its long inside reaches and hugemud-land archipelagoes， was avoided by the ships of men，and the fisherfolk knew not that such things were.
Koogah， the Bone-Scratcher， retreated backward insudden haste， tripping over his staff and falling to theground. “Nam-Bok！” he cried， as he scrambled wildly forfooting. “Nam-Bok， who was blown off to sea， come back！”
The men and women shrank away， and the childrenscuttled off between their legs. Only Opee-Kwan wasbrave， as befitted the head man of the village. He strodeforward and gazed long and earnestly at the new-comer.
“It is Nam-Bok，” he said at last， and at the convictionin his voice the women wailed apprehensively and drewfarther away.
The lips of the stranger moved indecisively， and hisbrown throat writhed and wrestled with unspoken words.
“La la， it is Nam-Bok，” Bask-Wah-Wan croaked， peeringup into his face. “Ever did I say Nam-Bok would comeback.”
“Ay， it is Nam-Bok come back.” This time it was Nam-Bok himself who spoke， putting a leg over the side of thebidarka and standing with one foot afloat and one ashore.
Again his throat writhed and wrestled as he grappledafter forgotten words. And when the words came forththey were strange of sound and a spluttering of the lipsaccompanied the gutturals. “Greeting， O brothers，” hesaid， “brothers of old time before I went away with theoff-shore wind.”
He stepped out with both feet on the sand， and Opee-Kwan waved him back.
“Thou art dead， Nam-Bok，” he said.
Nam-Bok laughed. “I am fat.”
“Dead men are not fat，” Opee-Kwan confessed. “Thouhast fared well， but it is strange. No man may mate withthe off-shore wind and come back on the heels of theyears.”
“I have come back，” Nam-Bok answered simply.
“Mayhap thou art a shadow， then， a passing shadow ofthe Nam-Bok that was. Shadows come back.”
“I am hungry. Shadows do not eat.”
But Opee-Kwan doubted， and brushed his hand acrosshis brow in sore puzzlement. Nam-Bok was likewisepuzzled， and as he looked up and down the line foundno welcome in the eyes of the fisherfolk. The men andwomen whispered together. The children stole timidlyback among their elders， and bristling dogs fawned up tohim and sniffed suspiciously.
“I bore thee， Nam-Bok， and I gave thee suck when thouwast little，” Bask-Wah-Wan whimpered， drawing closer；“and shadow though thou be， or no shadow， I will givethee to eat now.”
Nam-Bok made to come to her， but a growl of fear andmenace warned him back. He said something in a strangetongue which sounded like “Goddam，” and added， “Noshadow am I， but a man.”
“Who may know concerning the things of mystery？”