DOGS AND HUNTING 
and Bowdoin Bay. Only a few days' differ- 
ence, but it is longer, and I do not welcome 
it. Not a sound, except the report of a 
glacier, broken oiF by its weight, and causing 
a new iceberg to be born. The black dark- 
ness of the sky, the stars twinkling above, and 
hour after hour going by with no sunlight. 
Every now and then a moon when storms do 
not come, and always the cold, getting colder 
and colder, and me out on the hunt for fresh 
meat. I know it; the same old story, a man's 
work and a dog's life, and what does it amount 
to? What good is to be done? I am tired, 
sick, sore, and discouraged. 
The main thing was game, but I had a much 
livelier time with some members of the Peary 
Arctic Club's expedition known as "our four- 
footed friends" — the dogs. 
The dogs are ever interesting. They never 
bark, and often bite, but there is no danger 
from their bites. To get together a team that 
has not been tied down the night before is a 
job. You take a piece of meat, frozen as stiff 
as a piece of sheet-iron, in one hand, and the 
harness in the other, you single out the cur you 
are after, make proper advances, and when he 
42 
