As soon, then, as he decides the tupik is really empty, he gives one short, deep note, well understood by the others dogs, signifying that the coast is clear. Then he bounces at the tent wall, bursts through it, and snatching the first big mouthful of meat he can get, beats a discreet retreat, leaving the others like thoughtless children to do the work and get themselves into the required mess. They rush in, of course, make hay of the tent, and kick up a tremendous uproar, giving themselves away to the whole village. It does not take long for the natives to cope with the situation. Armed with sticks, they hurry to the spot, and while some penetrate the tent to lay about and drive the dogs outside, others stand ready for the culprits when they come out, to give them such hard blows as will last them well—until next time! Out comes number one, a lump of provender in his teeth. He gets his blows right enough, but sticks to the meat ... only to be met, further on by the Leader, a surprised and indignant look on his face, as who should say “What! You at it again! Stealing, when you ought to be on guard! And having the effrontery to try to pass Me with your plunder! Put that meat down instantly and I’ll take charge of it! If you want any more, go back and get it.” There is no getting past this. The delinquent is bowled out, rolled over, bullied until he loses his head and his booty into the bargain. He is glad to escape alive. He breaks away at last, frantically licking his wounds. Whereupon Leader absent-mindedly eats the meat and sits down to await another scrap from the next offender. He calls this keeping his end up with the mob. On one lurid occasion of this sort, all the canine raiders had escaped from the tent but one, a small fat puppy. He happened to be in the place at the time and quite enjoyed entering into the spirit of the thing—meant to do his best like the others. So he climbed into the lamp, freshly replenished with oil, and fitted it so exactly, lubricating himself from head to foot, that he stuck in situ to be caught, but looking quite proud of his position and feeling altogether grown up. He was soaked in oil and grime; oil dripped from his mouth, and the laugh on his face plainly said, “My! This is good! Why didn’t I think of it before?” He was summarily pulled both out of the lamp and out of his complacency. Infantile yells outside told of early correction being administered and a lesson in honesty enforced. After that his mother took him in hand and licked him clean. It is sometimes asserted that the Eskimo dog does not bark. This is a mistake, as he certainly has a snappy bark of his own, however little it may resemble the recognised barks of all other sorts of dogs. For the most part he howls.