He crawled into the tent again to get the rifle with which to shoot the dog, but, suddenly possessed of an idea, paused for a moment, seated on the sleeping-bag, his head in his hands.

Beaten?  Was he beaten at last?  Had the Enemy conquered?  Had the Ice enclosed him in its vast, remorseless grip?  Then once more his determination grew big within him, for a last time that iron will rose up in mighty protest of defeat.  No, no, no; he was not beaten; he would live; he, the strongest, the fittest, would survive.  Was it not right that the mightiest should live?  Was it not the great law of nature?  He knew himself to be strong enough to move; to march, perhaps, for two whole days; and now food had come to them, to him.  Yes, but to abandon his men?

He had left McPherson, it is true; but then the lives of all of them had been involved—­one life against eleven.  Now he was thinking only of himself.  But Ferriss—­no, he could not leave Ferriss.  Ferriss would come with him.  They would share the dog meat between them—­the whole of it.  He, with Ferriss, would push on.  He would reach Kolyuchin Bay and the settlements.  He would be saved; he would reach home; would come back—­come back to Lloyd, who loved him.  Yes, but to abandon his men?

Then Bennett’s great fist closed, closed and smote heavily upon his knee.

“No,” he said decisively.

He had spoken his thoughts aloud, and Ferriss, who had crawled into his sleeping-bag again, looked at him curiously.  Even Muck Tu turned his head from the sickening mess reeking upon the cooker.  There was a noise of feet at the flap of the tent.

“It’s Adler,” muttered Ferriss.

Adler tore open the flap.

Then he shouted to Bennett:  “Three steam whalers off the foot of the floe, sir; boat putting off!  What orders, sir?”

Bennett looked at him stupidly, as yet without definite thought.

“What did you say?”

The men in the sleeping-bags, roused by Adler’s shout, sat up and listened stolidly.

“Steam whalers?” said Bennett slowly.  “Where?  I guess not,” he added, shaking his head.

Adler was swaying in his place with excitement.

“Three whalers,” he repeated, “close in.  They’ve put off—­oh, my God!  Listen to that.”

The unmistakable sound of a steamer’s whistle, raucous and prolonged, came to their ears from the direction of the coast.  One of the men broke into a feeble cheer.  The whole tent was rousing up.  Again and again came the hoarse, insistent cry of the whistle.

“What orders, sir?” repeated Adler.

A clamour of voices filled the tent.

Ferriss came quickly up to Bennett, trying to make himself heard.

“Listen!” he cried with eager intentness, “what I told you—­a while ago—­about Lloyd—­I thought—­it’s all a mistake, you don’t understand—­”

Bennett was not listening.

“What orders, sir?” exclaimed Adler for the third time.