"Yes," I said.

"I think it is a rogue," he said. "Also, see the way he is watching you."

"Yes," I said.

"I think it has been hunted before," he said.

"Perhaps," I said. Generally a sleen watches you warily and then, as you approach, submerges. Normally, though it is swift to attack an object moving about in the water, like a swimmer, it will not attack a vessel. Its attack instincts are apparently not triggered by that configuration, or perhaps there is no stimulating smell or familiar pressure patterns, such as it would commonly associate with its prey or a vulnerable object, in the water, from the passage of the craft and the stroke of the paddle. This sleen, however, did not seem to be watching us warily. Rather there was something rather menacing in its attitude.

"Hello, Sleen," I said.

"Do not be silly," said Imnak. 'That is a very dangerous animal."

"Am I not supposed to talk to it?" I asked. I thought I might give Imnak back a bit of his own medicine.

"One must be careful what sleen one talks to," said Imnak. 'There is a time to talk and coax, and a time to be quiet."

"I see." I said, smiling.

"You may talk to it if you wish," said Imnak, "but I would not do so if I were you."

"Why not?" I asked.

"It might listen," he said.

"Is that not the point?" I asked, chuckling.

"That is one sleen you would just as soon not have listen to you," said Imnak. "That is a rogue broad-head, and I think he has been hunted before."

"One must be careful what sleen one takes up with," I said.

"Precisely," said Imnak.

I fished the lance out of the water. I now had both. the lance and the harpoon beside me.

"Arlene would like something for a soup," I said to the sleen. "Can you help me out?"

"Be silent." whispered Imnak, horrified.

"I thought you said he liked me," I said.

"He may be only pretending," said Imnak.

"I think he is really a good fellow," I said.

"Let us not take the chance," said Imnak. "Do not turn your back on him. We will wait quietly until he goes away, and then we will go back to camp."

"No," I said.

"We have two sleen," said Imnak.

"You have two sleen." I said.

"Do not be foolish, Tarl, who hunts with me," said Imnak.

"I am sure he is really a nice sleen," I said.

"Look out!" cried Imnak. "He is coming!"

I dropped the harpoon for it would be an extremely difficult cast to strike the animal head on. The bone point of the harpoon, thrown, would probably not penetrate the skull and it would be difficult to strike the submerged, narrow forepart of the body knifing toward the kayak. I thrust the lance point into the rushing, extended, double-fanged jaws and it penetrated through the side of the mouth, tearing, the animal's face a yard up the shaft. It reared six feet out of the water vertically beside the slender hide vessel. With two hands on the shaft I forced the twisting body to fall away from the craft. One of the large flippers struck me, buffeting me, spinning me and the vessel about, the animal then slipping free of the shaft of the lance. It circled the craft its mouth hot with blood flowing into the cold water. It was then I retrieved the harpoon again from the water by its line, for it had been once more struck away from me. I set the light harpoon into the notch on the throwing board and, even mittened, an instant before the beast turned toward me, grunted, snapping the throwing board forward and downward, speeding the shaft toward the enraged animal. The bone head, vanishing, sunk into its withers and it snapped downward, diving, bubbles breaking up to the surface, and swift blood. The line snapped out from its tray darting under the water. In moments the harpoon shaft and foreshaft bobbed to the surface, but the bone harpoon head, its line taut, turning the head in the wound, held fast. I played the line as I could. The animal was an adult, large-sized broad-head. It was some eighteen to twenty feet in length and perhaps a thousand pounds in weight. At the length of the line I feared the kayak and myself would be drawn under the water. Imnak, too, came to the line, and, straining, together we held it. The two kayaks dipped, stems downward. "He is running," said Imnak. He released the line. The kayak spun and then nosed forward. I held the line being towed by the beast somewhere below the water. "Loose the line!" called Imnak. "He is running to the ice!" I saw a pan of ice ahead. "Loose the line!" called Imnak. But I did not loose the line. I was determined not to lose the beast. I held the line in my left hand, wrapped about my wrist. With the lance in my right hand I thrust against the pan of ice. Then the lance slipped on the ice and the line slipped to the side and I in the kayak was dragged up on the ice skidding across it and then slipped loose of it and slid into the water to the side. "It is running to the sea!" called Imnak. following me as he could in his own vessel. Then the line went slack. "It is turning," said Imnak. "Beware!" But in a few moments I saw the body of the sleen rise to the surface, rolling, buoyant. It was some sixty feet from the kayak. "It is not dead," said Imnak. "I know," I said. It was easy to see the breath from its nostrils, like a spreading fog on the cold water. The water had a glistening, greasy appearance, for it bad begun to freeze. It was dark about the animal, from the blood. We brought our kayaks in close, to finish the animal with our lances. "Beware," said Imnak. "It is not dead." "It has lost much blood," I said. "It is still alive," he said. "Beware."

We nosed our kayaks on each side of the beast, approaching it from the rear.

"It is not breathing now," I said.

"It has been hunted before," said Imnak, "and lived."

"It is dead," I said. "It is not breathing."

"It has been hunted before, and lived," said Imnak. "Let us wait."

We waited for a time. "Let us tow it home," I said. "It is dead."

I poked the beast with the tip of my lance. It did not respond, but moved inertly in the water.

"It is dead," I said. "Let us draw it home now behind us."

"I would not be eager to turn my back on him," said Imnak.

"Why not?" I asked.

"He is not dead," said Imnak.

"How can you be sure?" I asked.

"He is still bleeding," said Imnak.

The hair rose on the back of my neck. Somewhere in that great body, apparently lifeless in the water, there still beat its heart.

"It is a broad-head." said Imnak. "It is pretending."

"It is losing blood," I said. "Too, it must soon breathe."

"Yes," said Imnak. "It will soon make its move. Be ready."

"We could go in with lances now," I said.

"It is waiting for our closer approach," said Imnak. "Do not think its senses are not keen."

"We shall wait?" I asked.

"Yes," said Imnak. "Of course. It is bleeding. Time is on our side."

We waited in the polar dusk.

After a time Imnak said, "Be ready. I have been counting. It must soon breathe."

We readied our lances, one of us on each side of the beast. Suddenly with a great, exploding noise, expelling air, the sleen leaped upward. At the height of its leap we struck it with our lances. It pulled free of the lances and, sucking in air, spun and dove. Again the harpoon line darted downward. "We struck it fairly!" said Imnak. "Watch out!" he cried. The line had grown slack. I peered downward into the water. Then I felt the swell of the water beneath me, clearly through the taut hide of the kayak. I thrust downward with the lance and was half pulled from the kayak, myself and the vessel lifted upward, as the sleen's impaled body reared up almost beneath the craft. Imnak struck again at it from the side. It fell back in the water and I, jerking free the lance, thrust it again into the wet, bloody pelt. It attacked again, laterally in the water, fangs snapping, and I pressed it away with the lance. Imnak struck it again. It thrashed; bloody in the icy water. It turned on Imnak and I thrust my lance deeply into its side, behind the right foreflipper, seeking, hunting, the great, dark heart. It expelled air again. I pulled the lance free to drive it in again. The beast regarded me. Then it rolled in the water.