As the jabbering natives approached, Bobby made a dive for Kapje and asked to be allowed to go along on the expedition. The latter grunted assent, giving each of them one of the sharp-pointed, long, heavy spears.
They tramped on through the loose, light snow till they came to the waterfront. There they stopped, the Eskimos still jabbering in excitement, and pointing oceanwards.
The boys strained their eyes to see, through the curtain of falling snow, what it was the natives were getting so worked up about.
Bobby was the first to see it, and he grabbed Fred, who was nearest him, pointing out toward the water.
“Look!” he cried. “That large ice floe! It’s covered with something! Seals! Or walruses, I guess. That’s what Kapje said!”
The water was filled with floating blocks of ice, varying in size, some of them—and these were farther out from the shore—large enough to build a small igloo on.
As Bobby had said, one of these large ice floes was so covered with animals of some kind that it was weighted down to the surface of the water.
Breathlessly the boys looked from this to the gesticulating natives. It seemed that they were to witness first hand a native walrus hunt—or seal hunt. The ice floe was not near enough yet for them to determine just what kind of animals crowded so closely upon it.
“Look!” cried Fred, under his breath. “Kapje’s getting ready for business.”
The Eskimo had deftly slipped one of the queer canoes into the water and had jumped into it, spear in hand, while two more of the natives followed him.