"No," he replied; "it is the gasoline schooner Witch. Some people have been out in her for a walrus-hunt."
I made haste to the mouth of the river to meet the party, and see what the fruits of this unique expedition had been. The boat tied up to a large cake of ice that lay aground in the mouth of the river. The first man to come ashore I recognised as Mr. B.B. Dobbs, of the Nome Moving Picture Company, and he appeared to be in a very bad temper.
"Good morning, Dobbs," said I. "Have you seen any walrus?"
"No, we have not seen any walrus," he growled, "although we have been looking for them for twenty-four hours. We got thirty miles beyond the shore-ice when a gale sprang up, and the little boat became so lively that I have had a dickens of a time trying to keep my inside in. Here, take my camera and come with me to get some refreshments."
When he had in a measure recovered himself Dobbs continued the conversation. "Now, listen to me," he said. "I must have a cinematograph picture of the walrus. You are a better sailor than I am, so I want you to take the picture for me."
"Yes," I replied; "but how about finding the walrus?"
"Why, just go and hunt for them; I will pay you well for it. The boat is chartered, and you can sail this evening."
The thirst of the wild was on me, so I determined to add walrus-hunting to my list of Arctic adventures, particularly as I could combine business with pleasure. I thought that if we could locate the animals it would be a sight never to be forgotten, and would also be a splendid ending to the monotony of an Arctic winter.
That evening seven Eskimos piled their guns and spears into the boat, and everything was in readiness to start, but we needed a skipper to command the vessel. Accordingly I hurried up the beach to find some old salt to take charge, but the camp was deserted. Scarcely a man was to be seen in the streets; everybody was busy shovelling gravel into the sluice-boxes, for this was the season of harvesting gold in Alaska. Out on the creeks and along the ancient pay-streaks men were digging for gold; the only males left in the town were a few store-keepers, bar-keepers, and a pack of well-fed lawyers. I had bethought myself of Dick Byers, an old sea-rover in the Arctic, and I found him sitting in a wheelbarrow near the Breakers Saloon, his head pillowed upon his knees, dozing. "Halloa, Dick, do you want work?" I asked. "I want you to go on a walrus-hunt with me, and I will give you twenty-five dollars for twenty-four hours of your service."
