on his left elbow so that he could watch the hole, while in his right hand he held a trusty harpoon. His companion Tunkine lay upon the ice farther away, with the rawhide cord attached to the harpoon firmly wound around his waist. They might have been blocks of ice themselves, so still they lay. Five minutes passed, ten, and fifteen, and still the seal did not come to the surface to breathe. Perhaps it was an old hole, but they would wait a while longer. Patience is a quality that the Eskimo has learned to perfection, just as have all primitive people. Finally, when Eiseeyou had about concluded that it must be an old hole, in spite of the excitement of the dogs, the beautiful head with the very human eyes of the little-ringed seal popped up in the air hole to breathe.
Lightning was not quicker than the flash of Eiseeyou's strong right arm as he sank the harpoon deep in the seal's neck. Then both Eskimos sprang to their feet and braced themselves. Away went the rawhide line singing through their mittened hands, and whistling against the edge of
