CARIBOU HUNTING 47 



One evening, as the men were returning, the wind veered 

 suddenly, and in less than a minute there was a wide gap 

 formed between the rocks on the shore and the pack. This 

 little "tickle," as it is called, was not quite open water, but 

 a space of slushy, fine fragments of ice on which none can 

 run except the most experienced ice-men. In a few minutes 

 most of the men, being skilled from their youth, ran across 

 the dividing distance, which was every moment becoming 

 broader. As the roll of the ocean caused the rotten ice to 

 rise, they fell on their faces and lay flat, thus preventing 

 a slip through. All passed safely over except Jim Barworth, 

 whose courage seemed to have deserted him. 



"Come, Jim, boy, try it now," cried his mother. "You 

 can do it sure." 



But Jim could not face it, and ran backwards and forwards 

 in a panic. She kept calling to him again and again as 

 an anxious hind calls her calf, but he would not come, and 

 sank on the ice hiding his face in his hands. Suddenly the 

 woman ran out on the rotten ice and would perhaps have 

 crossed, had not a wave risen, formed a crack, into which 

 she disappeared for ever. At that moment Jim looked up 

 and sprang to his feet, for he loved his mother much. He 

 gave but one glance round and rushed across the dreaded 

 space with outstretched arms. But too late. The crack 

 opened again, and in Death mother and son were not 

 divided. 



The weather still being brilliant, I revisited Selous' camp 

 for two days, and then went down to the east end of the 

 St. John's Lake for another two days, but in neither of these 

 places did we see even a small stag, so returned again to 

 my standing camp to the north-west of the lake. 



