A STONY LAND. 251 



all the fossils we could possibly carry, and, well satisfied with our 

 work, started downwards once more. 



But as we neared camp we heard the cackling of one flock of 

 geese after another, flying northward along the lowlands. This was 

 more than we could resist, and we had to go after them. But they 

 were shy game, these geese, and knew well how to keep us at 

 arm's length. There were hosts of them, too, flock after flock of 

 several hundred birds ; but that was small comfort, seeing that we 

 never could get within range of them. There was no question of 

 stalking them here where the couutry was as flat as a floor, and 

 when we were unable to come within fair range we generally 

 missed them. I shot so wild at these bedevilled geese that day, 

 that I was almost beside myself witli annoyance. I killed one by 

 a fluke now and again, and a couple of times brought down two at 

 a shot. It was some sort of consolation to know that Schei was 

 having a day of misfortune too, as far as the birds were concerned. 



Schei's idea of the stalking-sail led to no greater success. It 

 answered splendidly as far as approaching the geese was concerned, 

 but the wind was so high, that it was. as much as we could do to 

 hold the sail in place, and to aim with the thing shaking and 

 tugging at one was a sheer impossibility. There was nothing for 

 it but to roll up the sail and put it away. 



Well, enough of this wild-goose chase. We soon grew tired of 

 it, and began instead to take a lively interest as to how the geese 

 would look in the cooking-pot. We had shot a few, so that at 

 any rate we could get a supper out of them. We managed with 

 one goose apiece, for they were as fat as they could be, and the 

 goose-greese floated on the top of the soup in a thick layer. We 

 thought it was many a long day since we had eaten anything so 

 delicious. 



On Monday, June 10, we broke camp at the usual hour, drove 

 south across the great lowlands, and meant in time to get down 

 on to the sea-ice, in the neighbourhood of Lille Bjornekap. Mile 

 after mile we drove across the plain. On every bare patch was 

 vegetation, giving me the decided impression that the whole of 

 this lowland was closely covered with herbage. No wonder it 

 was a favourite haunt of the big game. 



