My First Kill 23 



sharp, rocky ridges covered with about a foot of 

 snow, and, on the narrow tripping shoes used in 

 the Barren Grounds, I broke through the crust 

 where it was soft, or jammed my shoes between 

 the wind-swept rocks that lay close together, or 

 caught in those I attempted to clear in my 

 stride. It was a species of hurdle racing to test 

 the bottom of a well-fed, conditioned athlete; 

 how it wore on a tea diet I need not say. 



After we had been running for about an hour, 

 it seemed to me as though we should never see 

 the musk-oxen. Ridge after ridge we crossed 

 and yet not a sight of the coveted quarry. Seco 

 still held a lead of about one hundred yards, and 

 I remember I wondered in my growing fatigue 

 why on earth that Indian maintained such a pace, 

 for I could not help feeling that when the musk- 

 oxen finally had been caught up, he would stop 

 until I, and all the Indians and all the dogs had 

 come up, so as to more certainly assure the suc- 

 cess of the hunt : but it was not the first time I 

 had been with Indian hunters, and I knew well 

 enough not to take any chances. 



In another half hour's running, as I worked up 

 the near side of a rather higher and broader 

 ridge than any we had crossed, I heard the 



