Neither spoke. Holding the rear framework of their sleds, they trusted
to the instinct of their dogs. Mile after mile swept under their feet.
Their road often lay along the very edges of purple-black abysses. The
echoes of their sharp gliding sleds cutting the ice, of the very patter
of their dogs' feet, were magnified in volume in the clear air, and it
seemed as though, in the hollow depths on every side, ghostly teams
were following. Koolotah was white with fear. But Ootah encouraged
him onward.
They paced off twenty miles. They reached an altitude of more than a
thousand feet above the sea.
The great moon slowly circled about the sky; the scurrying clouds
contorted like grotesque living things.
The two hunters made precipitous descents over unexpected frozen
slopes--at times it seemed as though they were about to be hurled to
instantaneous death. Yet Ootah steeled his heart. His teeth chattered
but he gritted them firmly.
"Annadoah needeth food," he murmured, "and----"
His eyes shone, a new pity not unmingled with a taint of bitterness
filled his heart. Annadoah must live; she must have food. For a
strange thing, he observed, had come upon her. Her inexplicable moods,
her brief moments of tenderness, her riotous griefs, and other
prefigurements of maternity--these made her dearer to Ootah. So he
vigorously cracked his whip and urged the dogs.
The chasms twisted with lifelike motion all around him. Behind, as in
a dream, Ootah heard the whip of Koolotah, and the barking of
Koolotah's dogs. For hours his feet moved swiftly and mechanically
under him. Once his foot slipped. He swerved to the right. A vast
black mouth yawned hungrily to receive him; then it closed behind him.
The leaping team of dogs had pulled him forward. Luckily he maintained
a tenacious hold to the rear upstander of his sled.
Narrow chasms constantly cut their trail. With sharp howls the dogs
leaped over these, the sleds passed safely, and by instinct Ootah would
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