“And plump,” said a third.
“Wid cheeks like the hide of a walrus,” cried O’Riley; “but, sure, it won’t show wid a veil on.”
“Come, now, you won’t refuse.”
But Buzzby did refuse; not, however, so determinedly but that he was induced at last to allow his name to be entered in Fred’s note-book as a supernumerary.
“Hark!” cried the captain; “surely the dogs must have smelt a bear.”
There was instantly a dead silence in the cabin, and a long, loud wail from the dogs was heard outside.
“It’s not like their usual cry when game is near,” said the second mate.
“Hand me my rifle, Mivins,” said the captain, springing up and pulling forward the hood of his jumper, as he hurried on deck followed by the crew.
It was a bright, still, frosty night, and the air felt intensely sharp, as if needles were pricking the skin, while the men’s breath issued from their lips in white clouds, and settled in hoar-frost on the edges of their hoods. The dogs were seen galloping about the ice hummocks as if in agitation, darting off to a considerable distance at times, and returning with low whines to the ship.
“It is very strange,” remarked the captain. “Jump down on the ice, boys, and search for footprints. Extend as far as Store Island and see that all is right there.”