They were now driven to straits by thirst, but there was not a drop of water, save the salt sea water, to be had.

“We’ll have to burn the komatik,” said Aluktook.

Netseksoak knocked two or three cross-bars from it and built a miniature fire, using the wood with the greatest possible economy, and by this means melted a kettle of ice, and Bob brewed some tea.

The warm drink was stimulating, and gave them renewed ambition.  They separated again in search of game, but again returned, towards evening, empty handed.

“Too late for seals,” the Eskimos remarked laconically.

All were weak from lack of food, and when they gathered at the igloo it was decided that one of the dogs must be killed.

“We’ll eat Amulik, he’s too old to work anyway,” suggested Netseksoak.

Amulik, the dog thus chosen for the sacrifice, was a fine old fellow, one of Netseksoak’s dogs that had braved the storms of many winters.  The poor brute seemed to understand the fate in store for him, for he slunk away when he saw Netseksoak loading his gun.  But his retreat was useless, and in a little while his flesh was stored in the igloo and the Eskimos were dining upon it uncooked.

Though Bob was, of course, very hungry, he declined to eat raw dog meat, and to cook it was quite out of the question, for the little wood contained in the komatik he realized must be reserved for melting ice, as otherwise they would have nothing to drink.  Another day, however, and he was so driven to the extremes of hunger that he was glad to take his share of the raw meat which to his astonishment he found not only most palatable but delicious, for there is a time that comes to every starving man when even the most vile and putrid refuse can be eaten with a relish.

The dog meat was carefully divided into daily portions for each man.  Some of it, of course, had to go to the remaining animals, to keep them alive to be butchered later, if need be, for this was the only source of food the destitute men had.

Every day Bob and the Eskimos wandered over the ice, hoping against hope that some means of escape might be found.  Bob realized that nothing but the hand of Providence, by some supernatural means, could save him now.  Again, he said,

“Th’ Lard this time has sure been losin’ track o’ me.  Maybe ’tis because when He were showin’ me a safe trail over th’ hills I were not willin’ t’ bide His time an’ go that way, but were comin’ by th’ ice after th’ warnin’ at Kangeva.”

But he always ended his musings with the comfortable recollection of his mother’s prayers.  Which had helped him so much before, and this did more than anything else to keep him courageous and brave.

The days came and went, each as empty as its predecessor, and each night brought less probability of escape than the night before.

Another dog was killed, and a week passed.