“‘Tis enough t’ stock a company’s post!” he exclaimed.  But its real intrinsic value was quite beyond his comprehension.

When it was settled, beyond doubt, that the Maid of the North was entirely worthy of their confidence and in no danger of sinking, the three returned to the igloo and transferred their sleeping bags and few belongings, as well as the dogs, to their new quarters on board of her.

After this was done they skinned and dressed the polar bear, which still lay upon the ice where it had been killed, and some of the flesh was fed to the half famished dogs.  Bob insisted upon giving them an additional allowance, after the two Eskimos had fed them, for he said that they, too, should share in the good fortune, though Netseksoak expressed the opinion that the dogs ought to have been quite satisfied to escape being eaten.

The choicest cuts of the bear’s meat the men kept for their own consumption, and Bob rescued the liver also, when Aluktook was about to throw it to the dogs, for he was very fond of caribou liver and saw no reason why that of the polar bear should not prove just as palatable.  He fried some of it for supper, but when he placed it on the table both Aluktook and Netseksoak refused to touch it, declaring it unfit to eat, and warned Bob against it.

“There’s an evil spirit in it,” they said with conviction, “and it makes men sick.”

This was very amusing to Bob, and disregarding their warning he ate heartily of it himself, wondering all the time what heathen superstition it was that prejudiced Eskimos against such good food, for, as he had observed, they would usually eat nearly anything in the way of flesh, and a great many things that he would not eat.

In a little while Bob began to realize that something was wrong.  He felt queerly, and was soon attacked with nausea and vomiting.  For two or three days he was very sick indeed and the Eskimos both told him that it was the effect of the evil spirit in the liver, and that he would surely die, and for a day or so he believed that he really should.

Whether the bear liver was under the curse of evil spirits or was in itself poisonous were questions that did not interest Bob.  He knew it had made him sick and that was enough for him, and what remained of the liver went to the dogs, when he was able to be about again.

The days passed wearily enough for the men in their floating prison, impatient as they were at their enforced inactivity, but still helpless to do anything to quicken their release.  May was dragging to an end and June was at hand, and still the ice pack, firm and unbroken, refused to loose its bands.  Slowly—­imperceptibly to the watchers on board the Maid of the North—­it was drifting to the southward on the bosom of the Arctic current.  But the sun, constantly gaining more power, was rotting the ice, and it was inevitable that sooner or later the pack must fall to pieces and release the schooner and its occupants from their bondage.  Then would come another danger.  If the wind blew strong and the seas ran high, the heavy pans of ice pounding against the hull might crush it in and send the vessel to the bottom.  Therefore, while longing for release, there was at the same time an element of anxiety connected with it.