I watched the work with interest. Plock and Miskin were busy at the bow-chains, Swank, Wigmore and Frissell prepared the site, hewing out rude blocks with their ice picks, while Sausalito cackled encouragement. She was knitting a slip-on of reindeer yarn. Suddenly a shout of dismay rose from under our forefoot. I saw Plock and Miskin struggling with the bowsprit. Evidently they had completely miscalculated the strength of the magnetic pull. "Help!" cried Plock. I sprang forward, even as the others threw down their picks and dashed toward the bow. We were too late. Jammed against the side of the ship, his hands torn and bleeding Miskin was forced to relinquish his grasp. With but the weight of Plock at its butt end the long pole shot off at an angle across the ice. "Leave it go!" I ordered. But Plock was too dazed, too enraged to hear me. Fortunately at a distance of two hundred yards his head struck a ridge of ice and he keeled over. Free of all hindrance, the steel stick bounded off with amazing rapidity, leaving a faint trail, straight and true to the Magnetic North. I watched it through my glasses until it disappeared over the horizon to the southwest,--and there it is today, for all to see who visit those strange regions, a record of the Traprock Expedition placed there by a power more mysterious and greater than that of human hands. Plock was gathered up and the company once more assembled. This time I wasted no words. "Men, we are there. Beyond yonder eminence is the Pole. Ten minutes, twenty at most, and then--rest!" ABOUT TO BE CAPTURED This picture represents what is probably the high-spot in Dr. Traprock's absorbing narrative, namely, the moment just before the author and his friend Swank burst from their hiding-places and captured Ikik, the Klinka maid, who is seen crouching over the bait which in this case was the scarlet hunting-coat worn by Dr. Traprock during many an exciting chase, though none, we venture to say, compared to this. Critics of this picture have said that the coat seemed unnecessarily voluminous. In explanation it may interest our readers to know that at meetings of the Derby Hounds, which organization takes its origin from the ancient Epsom Hunts of England, the M.F.H. wears the medieval hunting costume, the folds of which cover the rider, horse and at times several of the hounds as well. The thought of our intrepid friend Traprock thus clad in full cry suggests an inspiring sight. He says himself with his usual modesty, "The coat has always attracted women, but I have usually been in it." Better than words our illustration, snapped by Swank through the eye of "Dr. Pease," gives an idea of the simple beauty of the Klinka summer-furs. Though she has thrown aside her oomiak she is plainly apprehensive. Something is in the air, she knows not what.