TRACES OF THE RUNAWAYS 167 



and we gradually became so familiar with Bjaaland's 

 right-handed tendencies that we actually counted on 

 them. 



On January 13, according to our reckoning, we ought 

 to reach the depot in 83° S. This was the last of our 

 depots that was not marked at right angles to the route, 

 and therefore the last critical point. The day was not 

 altogether suited for finding the needle in the haystack. 

 It was calm with a thick fog, so thick that we could 

 only see a few yards in front of us. We did not see 

 a single beacon on the whole march. At 4 p.m. we 

 had completed the distance, according to the sledge- 

 meters, and reckoned that we ought to be in 83° S., by 

 the depot; but there was nothing to be seen. We 

 decided, therefore, to set our tent and wait till it 

 cleared. While we were at work with this, there was 

 a rift in the thick mass of fog, and there, not many 

 yards away — to the west, of course — lay our depot. 

 We quickly took the tent down again, packed it on 

 the sledge, and drove up to our food mound, which 

 proved to be quite in order. There was no sign of the 

 birds having paid it a visit. But what was that? Fresh, 

 well-marked dog-tracks in the newly-fallen snow. We 

 soon saw that they must be the tracks of the runaways 

 that we had lost here on the way south. Judging by 

 appearances, they must have lain under the lee of the 

 depot for a considerable time; two deep hollows in the 

 snow told us that plainly. And evidently they must 



