DAYS IN CAMP 285 



I caught one of them later. It is something like our 

 bullhead, and the Samoyeds call it 'har-miir-gai-ly-i.' 



' The cloudberry fruit is now developing. It is green 

 at present, and tightly wrapped up in the calyx.' 



Sunday, August ^th. — A wonderfully clear day. All 

 the Samoyeds and Hyland went down to the sea mean- 

 ing to catch geese. I remained in camp, for I had 

 much flower-pressing and other work to do. They left 

 eight dogs in camp, who never stopped yelling the whole 

 time. 



Old Sailor nearly brought down his doom to-day. 

 He has no teeth ; but there is something in his Enolish 

 orowl — a rollinsf bass — which answers as well. No 

 matter what dog, however fierce or big, comes up with 

 the intention of eating Sailor, as soon as he. Sailor, 

 stiffens his back and speaks the enemy incontinently 

 draws off. But he is a rash old dog. Absolutely fear- 

 less, he will go prowling round the choom, intruding on 

 the others' ground. I always felt that he would do it 

 once too often. And to-day he deliberately went and took 

 a bone from the middle of a group of three dogs. There 

 was a moment's pause of sheer astonishment, and then 

 like a flash the three were on to him. Another second, 

 and Sailor was in the middle of a pack of screaming 

 demi-wolves. Ni-arr- way wasn't there, thank goodness! 

 nor the big brindle ; they were at the goosing ; but there 

 were quite enough without them. I actually saw one 



