FROZEN HEELS 387 



the case. A cup of Horlick's Malted Milk tasted better 

 that day than the last time I had tried it in a restaurant 

 in Chicago. 



Having enjoyed that, we threw ourselves on the 

 almost empty sledges, and set our course for home. 

 The going was difficult, but, with the light weight they 

 now had to pull, the dogs went along well. I sat with 

 Wisting, as I considered his team the strongest. The 

 cold held on unchanged, and I was often surprised that 

 it was possible to sit still on the sledges, as we did, 

 without freezing ; but we got on quite well. One or two 

 I saw off their sledges all day, and most of us jumped 

 off from time to time and ran by the side to get warm. 

 I myself took to my ski and let myself be pulled along. 

 This so-called sport has never appealed to me, but under 

 the circumstances it was permissible; it warmed my 

 feet, and that was the object of it. I again had recourse 

 to this "sport " of ski-driving later on, but that was for 

 another reason. 



On the 15th, as we sat in the tent cooking and chat- 

 ting, Hanssen suddenly said : " Why, I believe my heel's 

 gone!" Off came his stockings, and there was a big, 

 dead heel, like a lump of tallow. It did not look well. 

 He rubbed it until he thought he " could feel something 

 again," and then put his feet back in his stockings and 

 got into his bag. Now it was Stubberud's turn. ' Blest 

 if I don't think there's something wrong with mine, too." 

 Same proceeding same result. This was pleasant two 



