152 THENORTHPOLE 



They were wild with excitement, for they also had seen 

 the black dots and knew what they meant; and as 

 soon as the traces were unfastened they were off — 

 straight as the flight of a homing bee. 



We followed, at our leisure, knowing that when 

 we arrived the herd would be rounded up, ready for 

 our rifles. A single musk-ox, when he sees the dogs, 

 will make for the nearest cliff and get his back against 

 it; but a herd of them will round up in the middle of 

 a plain with tails together and heads toward the enemy. 

 Then the bull leader of the herd will take his place 

 outside the round-up, and charge the dogs. When 

 the leader is shot, another takes his place, and so on. 



A few minutes later I stood again, as I had stood 

 on previous expeditions, with that bunch of shaggy 

 black forms, gleaming eyes and pointed horns before 

 me — only this time it did not mean life or death. 



Yet, as I raised my rifle, again I felt clutching 

 at my heart that terrible sensation of life hanging 

 on the accuracy of my aim; again in my bones I felt 

 that gnawing hunger of the past; that aching lust for 

 red, warm, dripping meat — the feeling that the wolf 

 has when he pulls down his quarry. He who has 

 ever been really hungry, either in the Arctic or else- 

 where, will understand this feeling. Sometimes the 

 memory of it rushes over me in unexpected places. 

 I have felt it after a hearty dinner, in the streets of 

 a great city, when a lean-faced beggar has held out 

 his hand for alms. 



I pulled the trigger, and the bull leader of the 

 herd fell on his haunches. The bullet had found the 

 vulnerable spot under the fore shoulder, where one 



