Then suddenly the incredible thing happened. The animals on the ice—the boys had gathered from the mutterings of the Eskimos that they were not walruses, but were seals—as though finally deciding that the men in the approaching boats were not friendly to them, began to move slowly, sluggishly, the ones nearest the edge slipping off into the water with a dull splash.
The men in the canoes, as though maddened at sight of their escaping prey, rushed toward the floe and the animals that still remained upon it.
They were too late. Before they had reached near enough to the ice for the throwing of a spear, the last seal had deserted its resting place, the huge drifting block of ice was empty.
“Zowie, that’s the time they got fooled!” cried Fred excitedly. “Old Mr. Seal sure gave them the slip!”
“Not yet!” cried Mouser excitedly. “Look! They’re looking for them in the water.”
“Not much chance,” said Bobby, wondering at the queer relief he felt. “Seals are mighty slow on land, but they make up for it in the water. Besides, I’ve read that they’re pretty fierce when they’re attacked in the water.”
In this Bobby proved himself right. The men in the boats, after encircling the ice floe several times in the pursuit of the escaping seals, finally gave it up and returned, disgruntled enough, to the shore.
“Well,” said Fred suddenly, “I can’t say I’m sorry. The seal’s a friendly sort of old boy—just see what faithful intelligent pets they make, almost as good as a dog—and it seems a shame to kill ’em off just for the sake of what you can get from them.”
“Lucky for you the natives can’t understand much of what you’re saying,” laughed Bobby, glad that Fred felt the same way he did about it. “Hunting seals is their chief outdoor sport, you know.”
“Well, they can have it, for all I care,” retorted Fred.