ely worthy of their confidence and in no danger of sinking, the
three returned to the igloo and transferred their sleeping bags and
few belongings, as well as the dogs, to their new quarters on board of
her.

After this was done they skinned and dressed the polar bear, which
still lay upon the ice where it had been killed, and some of the flesh
was fed to the half famished dogs. Bob insisted upon giving them an
additional allowance, after the two Eskimos had fed them, for he said
that they, too, should share in the good fortune, though Netseksoak
expressed the opinion that the dogs ought to have been quite satisfied
to escape being eaten.

The choicest cuts of the bear's meat the men kept for their own
consumption, and Bob rescued the liver also, when Aluktook was about
to throw it to the dogs, for he was very fond of caribou liver and saw
no reason why that of the polar bear should not prove just as
palatable. He fried some of it for supper, but when he placed it on
the table both Aluktook and Netseksoak refused to touch it, declaring
it unfit to eat, and warned Bob against it.

"There's an evil spirit in it," they said with conviction, "and it
makes men sick."

This was very amusing to Bob, and disregarding their warning he ate
heartily of it himself, wondering all the time what heathen
superstition it was that prejudiced Eskimos against such good food,
for, as he had observed, they would usually eat nearly anything in the
way of flesh, and a great many things that he would not eat.

In a little while Bob began to realize that something was wrong. He
felt queerly, and was soon attacked with nausea and vomiting. For two
or three days he was very sick indeed and the Eskimos both told him
that it was the effect of the evil spirit in the liver, and that he
would surely die, and for a day or so he believed that he really
should.

Whether the bear liver was under the curse of evil spirits or was in
itself poisonous were questions that did not interest Bob. He knew it
had made him sick and that was enough for him, and what remained of
the liver went to the dogs, when he was able to be about again.

The days passed wearily enough for the men in their floating prison,
impatient as they were at their enforced inactivity, but still
helpless to do anything to quicken their release. May was dragging to
an end and June was at hand, and still the ice pack, firm and
unbroken, refused to loose its bands. Slowly--imperceptibly