'Ah! Chun-Me! Chun-Me!' several sighed, their glances seeking the girl with the steel-coloured fringe on her head. 'They say that the Kniaź wants to win her for his son.' 'Eh, the old man won't give him his favourite daughter,--not he!' When Seltichan's eldest son rode by,--a famous hunter, commonly known by the name of 'Sparkling Ice,'--conversation was hushed out of respect to him. And when the last reindeer of the caravan had disappeared into the bushes, and the branches closed swinging behind it, Seltichan rose from his seat and went away, taking leave of the company with a slight nod. This was to indicate that he was expecting them all to come to him shortly. That evening there was a crowd round the old man's tent, for nearly all the temporary inhabitants of the valley were present. The host gave orders for several reindeer to be killed, and welcomed his guests. With the light-heartedness of true Tungus, they forgot their sufferings in satisfying their hunger after their long fast, and began to dance and join in cheerful songs. The old men sitting by the fire watched the younger ones with enjoyment, and beat time with their heads, repeating the refrains. 'What do you think, Oltungaba, will the God withdraw his punishing hand, and allow joy to return to the mountains?' Seltichan asked, turning to one of the guests, the old man who was as dark as copper, and as wrinkled as moss. 'Our life, Seltichan, is a shadow falling upon the water,' Oltungaba answered meditatively. * * * * * The following morning the people in the valley awoke in an unusually solemn mood. The day proclaimed itself rich in events. The weather was exquisite, the sky clear and blue, without a trace of cloud. Having assembled at the conference, the older and prominent members of families took their places in the front row, the younger ones behind them, and the women and children still further off, beyond the edge of the circle. Oltungaba, yielding to numerous entreaties, walked into the centre, and bowing, said: 'Why do you ask this of me, regardless of my old age?' 'To whom else can we turn?' 'There are distinguished shamans who are younger.' 'Oh, Oltungaba, who would dare to prophesy in your presence?' was asked from all sides. The old man was silent, and looked distrustingly at the excited assembly. 'You hesitate,--when, maybe, the last day has come for many?' 'I am not thinking of myself, but calling to mind the ancient customs. Who will interpret my language to you? A difficult time demands a difficult language, and a painful time a painful language. And why arouse danger unnecessarily? If no brave man is found, must I die?' 'Let us all die! Surely, Oltungaba, you wish us well? We are resolved.' 'Then let it be so,' he assented, after a short moment's thought.