“But the danger is great—­the ice splits,” said Attalaq.

“But we need food.”  Ootah thought of Annadoah.  She had not been well, she needed food—­that was sufficient.  Moreover, he thought of the children; three were dying of lack of food.  So he called the tribesmen and gave the signal for preparations to depart.  A selection had to be made of the best dogs for the dangerous trip.  Few dogs remained in the village; many had been frozen by the bitter cold; others had to be killed as food for their companions; some had occasionally been devoured by the famished natives.  And this the desperate people had done with reluctance and great sorrow—­for, as I have said, a native loves his dog but little less than his child.

Ootah in the lead, with five others, started on the hunt, with three sledges, each of which was drawn by a team of five lean, hungry dogs.  After some urging Maisanguaq had sullenly consented to accompany the party.

Joy flushed the natives’ skin, for a thin film of sunlight trembled low over the eastern horizon.  As they sped northward past great promontories they saw several auks.  Later two ptarmigan were spotted, and still later an eider duck.  They began chanting songs of the race.

Quickly, however, the brief sunlight faded, heavy grey clouds piled along the sky-line, the atmosphere became perceptibly warmer, and intermittent gusts of wind blew downward from the inland mountains.

They directed their steps over the ice to a distant black spot, somewhat more than a mile distant, which they knew to be open water.  There, if there were any, the walrus would be found.  As they were marching, a very faint crackling noise vibrated through the ice under their feet.  They ceased singing.  Four of the party paused and would have turned back.  Ootah urged them onward.  They paced off half a mile.  The wind increased in volume and whined dolefully.  Their steps lagged.  Suddenly they heard the harsh nasal bellow they knew so well.  The hearts of all expanded with the joy of the hunt.

The dogs howled hungrily and, with tails swishing savagely, tore ahead.  As they approached the edge of the sea ice they passed great lakes of open water.  The twilight still continued to thicken, the wind came in increasingly furious blasts.  Nearer and nearer came the low call of walrus bulls.

In a lake of lapping black water, about five hundred feet from the open sea, a small herd rose to the surface intermittently for breath.  In the deep gloom the hunters saw fountains of spray ascending as they breathed.  Hitching their dogs to harpoon stakes driven in the ice, they separated and quietly took positions about the open water.