Hanssen had his days well occupied, industrious and handy as he was.  He was an expert at anything relating to sledges, and knew exactly what had to be done.  Whatever he had a hand in, I could feel sure of; he never left anything to chance.  Besides lashing the sledges, he had a number of other things to do.  Amongst them, he was to prepare all the whips we required —­ two for each driver, or fourteen altogether.  Stubberud was to supply the handles.  In consultation with the “Carpenters’ Union,” I had chosen a handle made of three narrow strips of hickory.  I assumed that if these were securely lashed together, and the lashings covered with leather, they would make as strong a handle as one could expect to get.  The idea of the composite handle of three pieces of wood was that it would give and bend instead of breaking.  We knew by experience that a solid whip-handle did not last very long.  It was arranged, then, that the handles were to be made by Stubberud, and passed on to Hanssen.

The whip-lashes were made by Hassel, in the course of the winter, on the Eskimo model.  They were round and heavy —­ as they should be —­ and dangerous to come near, when they were wielded by an experienced hand.  Hanssen received these different parts to join them together and make the whip.  As usual, this was done with all possible care.  Three strong lashings were put on each handle, and these again were covered with leather.  Personally, Hanssen was not in favour of the triple hickory handle, but he did the work without raising any objection.  We all remarked, it is true, that at this time, contrary to his habit, he spent the hours after supper with Wisting.  I wondered a little at this, as I knew Hanssen was very fond of a game of whist after supper, and never missed it unless he had work to do.  I happened one evening to express my surprise at this, and Stubberud answered at once:  “He’s making handles.” —­ “What sort of handles?” —­ “Whip-handles; but,” Stubberud added, “I’ll guarantee those hickory handles I’m making.  You can’t have anything tougher and stronger than those.”  He was rather sore about it, that was easy to see; the idea was his own, too.  Then —­ talk of the devil —­ in walked Hanssen, with a fine big whip in his hand.  I, of course, appeared extremely surprised.  “What,” I said, “more whips?” —­ “Yes,” said he; “I don’t believe in those I’m making in the daytime.  But here’s a whip that I can trust.”  I must admit that it looked well.  The whole handle was covered, so that one could not see what it was made of.  “But,” I ventured to object, “are you sure it is as strong as the others?” —­ “Oh, as to that,” he answered, “I’m quite ready to back it against any of those —­ " He did not say the word, nor was there any need.  His meaning was unmistakable, and “rotten whips” sounded in our ears as plainly as if he had shouted it.  I had no time to observe the effect of this terrible utterance, for a determined voice called out: