144 THENORTHPOLE 



I watched them through my glasses. The deer, 

 when he caught sight of them, started off leisurely 

 in another direction, looking back every now and 

 then, suspiciously alert. When the deer halted suddenly 

 and swung round facing them, it was clear that they 

 had given the magic call taught by Eskimo father to 

 Eskimo son through generation after generation, the 

 imitation call at which every buck reindeer stops 

 instantly — a peculiar hissing call like the spitting of 

 a cat, only more lingering. 



The two men leveled their rifles, and the magnifi- 

 cent buck went down in his tracks. The dogs had 

 been watching, with heads and ears erect; but at the 

 report of the rifles they swung sharply to the shore, 

 and the next instant we were hurrying across the 

 rocks and over the snow, the dogs dragging the sledges 

 as if they had been empty. 



When we reached the two hunters they were 

 standing patiently beside the deer. I had told them 

 not to disturb him, as some good photographs were 

 desired. He was a beautiful creature, almost snow- 

 white, with magnificent branching antlers. When 

 the photographs were taken, all four of the men set 

 to work, skinning and cutting him up. 



The scene is vivid in memory: the towering moun- 

 tains on both sides of James Ross Bay, with the snow- 

 covered foreshore stretching down to the white surface 

 of the bay; in the south the low-lying sun, a great 

 glare of vivid yellow just showing through the gap of 

 the divide, the air full of slowly dropping frost crystals; 

 and the four fur-clad figures grouped around the deer, 

 with the dogs and the sledges at a little distance 



