They are savage to all strangers. The team guards its master’s tent or igloo because he is the one who provides for it. The dogs sleep in the porch as a rule; and before entering a dwelling the visitor is well advised to call to one of the inmates to quiet them, otherwise he will be severely bitten. In winter, when hungry, the dogs are more dangerous than ever. It happened, once, that two Eskimo had died, and been sewn up in their blankets and buried beneath a cairn of huge stones in a neighbouring valley. One of the bodies was even enclosed in a light barrel. During the night the dogs raided the place, tore down the stones, and ate the dead. In the summer time they forage for themselves on the seashore, picking up small fish left by the tide, and anything edible they can find. The Eskimo dog has a great deal that is wolfish and dangerous in him. The strain, indeed, is very little differentiated from the wolf. Sometimes a dog will leave camp, go back to the wild, and join a pack of wolves as one of themselves. Those who do this seldom return; but when they do, puppies of the direct resulting strain are greatly valued. It has been remarked that, whereas wolves in the Arctic seldom attack a human being, dogs will not uncommonly do so. The extraordinary thing about this is that hydrophobia is practically unknown. It would be difficult to say exactly what may be the natural span of life of the Eskimo dogs, but they seem to be at least as long lived as the larger breeds of European dogs. The Eskimo names his dog ‘The Lively One,’ the ‘Bear,’ the ‘North Star,’ and in similar fashion. The animals possess much humour of their own; one belonging to the writer, of whom he was extremely fond, certainly enjoyed fun, and could very nearly speak! Lest, while on the subject of these creatures too much space should be devoted to them, this chapter cannot be concluded without a brief description of the sleds to which their toilsome lives are vowed.