lowing
day, when they began to sail southward, they had twelve fine, fat deer
lying in the hold in ice, and another in the hands of the cook for
present use.

"Seems rather wholesale, doesn't it?" said Steve to the doctor.

"Yes, my boy; but meat will keep for years in this climate if once
frozen; and," he added with a laugh, "you must make your hay when the
sun shines."

"And freeze it afterwards," said Steve, smiling.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

BATTLE ROYAL.

Days and days were spent exploring the coast southward, the party
landing wherever there was an opportunity offered by a likely spot; but
the most southern point of the mountain land was reached without a sign,
and several walrus boats were spoken by way of obtaining news, but
without result. Then, as the ice was densely packed, preventing any
attempt being made to search the eastern shore, a course was laid for
the great neighbouring island, the _Hvalross_ sailing steadily
north-east a short distance from the pack.

They had had a good evening's shooting the night before, and to the
great delight of Andrew, Hamish, and the cook quite a load of fine ducks
had been brought on board by the boat; but as Steve was going forward to
take a favourite position of his by the bowsprit, he found that another
member of the crew was not so highly pleased, for Watty was seated
outside the galley door with a goose in his lap and a bucket by his
side, busily plucking out the feathers and down, which, partly from the
angry energy with which he was working, partly from the breeze, were
flying in all directions, and especially all over his blue jersey and
into his shock hair, which had been well anointed with the bear's grease
he had carefully saved up from the day when the fat was boiled.

When Steve approached Watty seemed to be singing as he plucked, for
there was a mumbling, burring noise, and Steve turned to Andrew, who
happened to be close at hand seated upon the deck, fastening a line to
the edge of a sail.

"Why, Andra," he said, "do you hear that?"

"Oh ay, she hears it," replied the sailor.

"Do you know what it puts me in mind of?"

"Na, she dinna ken, Meester Stevey. A coo waiting for the lassie with
the milk-pail, maype."

"No," said Steve; "it's just like the drone of your pipes heard in the
cuddy with the hatch on."

"Fwhat? Na, na, she'll not pe a pit like tat. Ta pipes is music--coot
music, Meester Stevey; for there's na music like ta pagpipes--t