No wonder the human hunter has conceived the highest respect for the bear, and is anxious to secure his Tongak for a familiar spirit! In the water the walrus is a swift and formidable creature, to capture whom taxes the kyaker’s utmost skill and courage. The man has nothing but his spear and drag, i.e., an inflated sealskin attached to his spearhead, by means of which the animal, when transfixed, is prevented from diving too deeply or travelling too fast. As he approaches the walrus, man and beast manœuvre for an opening. The kyaker, keenly on the alert, with a touch of the paddle just keeps his frail craft moving until the other, with a sudden grunt and roar, rushes at him through the water, rearing right up at striking distance, a terrible vision indeed, with huge slavering tusks, eyes bloodshot and glistening with rage ... The coolest courage is required to face it! The hunter pauses there for just that fraction of a second until the creature is upon him, then slips aside, and the harpoon drives deep as the animal surges past. It instantly dives, intending to come up and tear the kyak from beneath. But the drag of the float upon the line checks it and causes it to misjudge the distance, so that when it rises the kyak is not there. Meanwhile, the hunter has easily kept track of the beast’s rush under water, by the air bubbles (or by his highly trained instinct), and when its savage head reappears he races up, and strikes it in the face before it has recovered from its bewilderment. The startled, baffled foe immediately dives again, and remains below the surface as long as possible, only to be driven down once more the instant it emerges for a breath of air. At last, utterly exhausted and nearly drowned, it comes up the last time and meets its fate at the hands of the plucky and relentless pursuer. Should the hunter miss his stroke at the first awful attack and fail to get clear, the kyak is instantly overturned and the man savagely mauled in the water, the walrus driving its tusks right through his body time and time again. Or it sometimes seizes the hunter between its flippers and, in full view of the other kyakers, holds him under water, coughing hoarse defiance at them all as they rush up to the rescue; and then slowly submerges, taking its enemy with it. Such are the casualties of arctic life. One of the very few creatures who seems to have it all his own way in the frozen regions of the north is the raven. He supplies an element of sheer impishness and insouciance in Eskimo life, without which the native might want for a good deal of fun and aggravation.