“Wu-r-r!” The low walrus call rose over the ice.  Ootah leaned over the edge of the ice and imitated the animal cry.  “Woor-r,” Maisanguaq, near him, replied.  The water seethed, and two glistening white tusks appeared.  Ootah raised his harpoon—­it hissingly cut the air.  A terrific bellow followed.  The little lake seethed.  A dozen fiery eyes, of a phosphorescent green, appeared above the water.  Maisanguaq struck, so did Arnaluk.  They let out their harpoon lines—­the savage beasts dove downward, then rose for breath.  In their frantic struggle their heads beat against the ice about the edge of the space of open water.  The natives fled backward—­the ice broke into thousands of fragments.  Each time the animals came up the hunters delivered more harpoons so as to pinion securely and at the same time despatch the prey.  In the gathering gloom they had to aim by instinct.  For an hour the struggle between the alert men and the enraged beasts continued.  Several times Ootah and Arnaluk fired their guns as the green eyes appeared so as to finish the task of killing.

Meanwhile the grey reflection of the descending sun entirely faded along the horizon; a bluish gloom blotted out the landscape.  The wind swept over the ice with fiendish hisses.  With a quick change the air became colder and snow flakes fell.  The natives became alarmed.  As they were drawing the first walrus to the ice a sound, like the discharge of a gun beneath the sea, startled them.  Seizing their knives they dexterously fell upon the animal and lifted the meat and blubber in long slices from the bones.  A great quantity was cast to the ravenous dogs.  Two more walrus were lumberingly drawn to the ice; the first sledge load and two hunters started shoreward; soon the second sledge was loaded.  Ootah and Maisanguaq remained to dress the third beast.

Like scorpions in the hands of the mighty tornarssuit the wind now steadily beat upon the ice.  The two men were almost lifted from their feet.  Not far away they heard the tumultuous crash of the rising waves.  As they were lashing the blubber to Ootah’s sledge, a resounding detonation vibrated through the ice under him—­the field on which they stood slowly but unmistakably began to move!

Maisanguaq spoke.  The wind drowned his voice.  Above its clamor they heard the ice separating with the splitting sound of artillery.  Whipped by the terrific gale the snow cut their faces like bits of steel.  In the darkness, which steadily thickened, they heard the appalling boom of bergs and the grind of floes colliding on the sea.

Ootah leaped to the team of dogs and interrupted their feast.  He knew they had not a single moment to lose—­the field had surely parted from the land ice and it was now a dreadful question as to whether a return was possible.  As he was hitching the dogs to the loaded sledge he suddenly gave a start.  Was he dreaming?  Was he hearing the disembodied speak, as men did in dreams?  He listened intently—­surely he heard a soft sweet voice calling piteously through the wind.  His heart gave a great thud.