"I'm for a walrus hunt," agreed Bruce.
"Good! That will stretch your legs a bit," said the Major. "But don't go too far, nor take too many chances. Remember you have a mission to accomplish here in the North."
The three adventurers were soon sleeping soundly in the bunks of the Gussie Brown, and far away, bobbing his head through a water-hole and shaking the icicles from his moustache, a great bull-walrus barked at the moon.
When they awoke from dreamless slumber, the boys' first thought was of the promised walrus hunt. They scrambled into their fur garments, and hurrying to the surface of the floe, listened for the hoarse call of their quarry, the walrus. They did not have to wait long.
"There he barks!" exclaimed Bruce, putting his hand to his ear.
"And again," Barney hurried below to secure a native harpoon and skin-rope. Bruce provided himself with a high-power magazine rifle.
"We're off!" Barney shouted joyously to the Major, as he gulped down a cup of steaming coffee and took a last bite of sour-dough bread.
"Good luck! And may you come back!" bantered the Major. Had he known how real was his jesting prophecy of danger, he would not have joked.
As a rule, walrus-hunting in the Arctic is not a sport, it is a task—the day's work of providing food for a village. It is as exciting as the "hog-killing day" of a middle-west farmer. The hog may run amuck of the farmer, and so may the walrus of the hunter; the chances are about equal. The walrus seldom shows fight. Before he is harpooned, he either is quite indifferent to the presence of the hunter, or slips away to the water at sight of him. If harpooned, he makes every effort to escape, and only in rare instances shows fight. The boys had been told all this by the trader over their coffee the night before.
It was evident, then, that they must slip up on their prey without being seen. This would be a comparatively simple matter, since the tumbled ridges of ice afforded ideal hiding-places. When close enough, Barney, who was the stronger of the two, was to drive the harpoon-point through the thick skin of the creature. This harpoon-point was fastened to a rawhide rope. He must instantly drive a copper-pointed lance into the ice, and wrapping the skin-rope about it, close to the ice-surface, hold on like grim death until Bruce dispatched the creature with his rifle. Wherever the beast was, in a small water-hole kept opened by himself, or a larger one formed by the shifting floes, their success would depend on Barney's ability to keep the rope free from jagged edges which might cut it, and Bruce's skill at quickly getting in a fatal shot. At regular intervals the walrus must rise for air, and this would give the opportunity for Bruce to get in his work.