“Hurt yourself, Handscombe?” he said.
“Hurt myself! Of course I have. I shall be all bruises,” grumbled the doctor. “Why didn’t you shoot?”
“How can you ask that when you made noise enough to frighten away all the walrus in the arctic circle?”
“Are there none there?” said Johannes, who had crept up to Steve’s side.
“Not a sign of one.”
“Don’t say I scared them all away,” said the doctor.
“Oh no, sir,” replied the Norseman, looking about searchingly. “They must have seen us ten minutes ago; they’re yonder on the ice a quarter of a mile away. We were very careful, too.”
“I am glad I did not frighten them,” cried the doctor, rubbing one of his elbows.
“But it’s so disappointing after all that trouble,” grumbled Steve.
“Wait a bit, sir,” said Johannes, as he watched the herd; “you will have plenty of chances yet. There are sure to be some disappointments in walrus-hunting. We must be more careful next time. There are some, grand bulls there, though,” he added thoughtfully; “look at that one’s tusks, Mr Steve—that one drawing himself up out of the water.”