162 ' FROM NORTH POLE TO EQUATOR. 



skull is broken open to recover the shot, and skin and body, 

 separated from one another, are consigned to the bag. 



When squirrels are plentiful, the hunt is as profitable as it is 

 entertaining. Everyone utilizes the short day to the utmost; one 

 shot quickly follows another; and the pile of skins rapidly grows. 

 Loading the gun is a tedious matter, but the skinning is done all 

 the more quickly; and every huntsman faithfully does his utmost. 

 Without resting, without eating, without even smoking, the hunts- 

 men go forward while they may. As the dogs call, the comrades 

 draw together or separate; the sharp report of their guns and the 

 cheerful barking of the dogs is to them a stimulating entertainment. 

 They count the shots, and welcome or envy their neighbours' luck. 

 But if the winter's yield be a poor one, if the oft-repeated cracking 

 of the whip calls forth no squirrel, if there be no tracks of sable 

 or noble marten, of elk or reindeer to be seen, huntsmen and dogs 

 trudge silently and moodily through the forest, and short commons 

 put the finishing touch to their ill-humour. 



When night comes on, our sportsmen have to think of preparing 

 their beds. From under an old, thick, fallen tree each shovels out 

 the snow, makes a trough the size of a man, and kindles a strong 

 fire in it. One of them then clears the snow from a circular patch 

 as nearly as possible in the middle of all the hollows, and under 

 the shelter of thick firs or pines; another gathers fuel; a third 

 heaps up in the clearing a still stronger fire, and a fourth prepares 

 supper. So many squirrels have been shot that there is no lack of 

 strong meat soup with which to give a relish to the porridge and 

 bread. The sportsmen have their supper and go shares with the 

 dogs, refresh themselves with tea and a pipe made of twisted paper 

 and then, after the fashion of their kind, discuss the exploits and 

 experiences of the day. Meantime the fire in each hole has melted 

 the snow, dried up the moisture, caught hold of the old tree-trunk 

 above, and thus thoroughly warmed the chamber. Carefully each 

 sleepy hunter pushes the still glowing fragments of wood to one 

 end of the hole, and into this, avoiding the side-wall of snow, he 

 creeps, calling his dogs after him that they too may share the warm 

 bed, and soon he is asleep. It is true that glowing sparks from the 



