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ADRIFT ON AN ICE-PAN
on his back, and stabbed him in the heart. Poor beast! I loved him like a friend,—a beautiful dog,—but we could not all hope to live. In fact, I had no hope any of us would, at that time, but it seemed better to die fighting.
In spite of my care the struggling dog bit me rather badly in the leg. I suppose my numb hands prevented my holding his throat as I could ordinarily do. Moreover, I must hold the knife in the wound to the end, as blood on the fur would freeze solid and make the skin useless. In this way I sacrificed two more large dogs, receiving only one more bite, though I fully expected that the pan I was on would break up in the struggle. The other dogs, who were licking their coats and trying to get dry,
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