, knowing that when we arrived the herd would
be rounded up, ready for our rifles. A single musk-ox, when he sees the
dogs, will make for the nearest cliff and get his back against it; but a
herd of them will round up in the middle of a plain with tails together
and heads toward the enemy. Then the bull leader of the herd will take
his place outside the round-up, and charge the dogs. When the leader is
shot, another takes his place, and so on.

A few minutes later I stood again, as I had stood on previous
expeditions, with that bunch of shaggy black forms, gleaming eyes and
pointed horns before me--only this time it did not mean life or death.

[Illustration: HEAD OF BULL MUSK-OX KILLED ON PARRY PENINSULA]

Yet, as I raised my rifle, again I felt clutching at my heart that
terrible sensation of life hanging on the accuracy of my aim; again in
my bones I felt that gnawing hunger of the past; that aching lust for
red, warm, dripping meat--the feeling that the wolf has when he pulls
down his quarry. He who has ever been really hungry, either in the
Arctic or elsewhere, will understand this feeling. Sometimes the memory
of it rushes over me in unexpected places. I have felt it after a hearty
dinner, in the streets of a great city, when a lean-faced beggar has
held out his hand for alms.

I pulled the trigger, and the bull leader of the herd fell on his
haunches. The bullet had found the vulnerable spot under the fore
shoulder, where one should always shoot a musk-ox. To aim at the head
is a waste of ammunition.

As the bull went down, out from the herd came a cow, and a second shot
accounted for her. The others, a second cow and two yearlings, were the
work of a few moments; then I left Ooblooyah and Koolatoonah to skin and
cut them up, while Egingwah and I started for the single animal, a
couple of miles away.

As the dogs approached this fellow, he launched up the hill and
disappeared over a nearby crest. The light surface snow along the path
he had taken was brushed away by the long, matted hair of his sides and
belly, which hung down to the ground.

The dogs had disappeared after the musk-ox, but Egingwah and myself were
guided by their wild barking. Our quarry had taken refuge among the huge
rocks in the bottom of a stream-bed, where his rear and both sides were
protected, and there he stood at bay with the yelping dogs before him.

One shot was enough; and leaving Egingwah to skin and cut up the animal,
I sta