A fact which was the cause of surprised comment by several members of the expedition was that we had thus far encountered no Eskimos on our journey. I confess that I myself was somewhat perplexed. In a country in which game abounded it seemed strange to find no hunting parties. I could account for this phenomenon by two courses of reasoning; either the natives had gone south to escape the intolerable weather which we were experiencing--for it will be remembered that these simple folk have practically no way of combating heat--or their hunters might possibly have fallen victims to the mistake so common to nimrods the world over, of leading their bands into localities in which there was no game whatever. Upon consideration the latter conclusion seemed the more probable for it follows a great general law of humanity. Each of my readers doubtless numbers among his acquaintance a sportsman who makes an annual pilgrimage into inaccessible regions in search of caribou, deer, salmon or big-horn and who invariably returns with a tale of disappointment. "It has been a very poor year for caribou." "There was too little water--or too much." These excuses are familiar to any one who holds converse with the disciples of rifle and rod. Our case was different. We were a scientific group, not occupied with the capture of animal trophies and so we naturally saw a great deal of game. It is difficult for me to set down the amazing amount of interesting live stock which flourished about us at every stage of our journey. In the lower latitudes these were the more familiar caribou, rabbits, wolves, and deer. A sight I shall never forget was one which confronted us shortly after clearing the westernmost point of Wrangel Island. This was in the earlier stages of our journey while we still enjoyed a few hours of restful darkness. Through the murky night I heard a low muttering sound with an occasional note of complaint or discontent. The noise was not single and distinct but vast and widespread as if a large area of land had become vocal. "What do you suppose is wrong?" I asked Triplett with whom I was keeping watch. "There's allus somethin' wrong on Wrangel," said that worthy imperturbably. But I could see that he was interested for he kept his good-eye alternately on our compass and the dim bulk of land that loomed on our quarter. Dawn came on apace and a marvellous picture lay before us. Far into the interior, on the snowy slopes, were millions of reindeer feeding on the Christmas trees which do so well in this locality. The noise I had heard was the swishing of great branches and the guttural grunts of these picturesque mammals as they devoured their provender. Others of my men had stolen on deck and stood silently watching. Frissell was greatly excited.