Night! My God! It had stolen upon us unaware. We would be caught, trapped in the deadly grip of the North King who had claimed so many brave men before us. The darkened atmosphere suggested but one thought. "Bed," I said. "Sleep." My oblivious companions took it as a signal for dispersal. They rose reluctantly. Good-byes were said. Noses were rubbed affectionately. Then an embarrassing episode took place. Makuik, who had marshalled his flock before him, suddenly seized the lovely Ikik by the shoulder and thrust her into my arms. "You take," he said, smiling broadly. "Me give." Her warm body pressed against me, not unwilling. It is the Kryptok custom, as usual as giving a man a drink. Confused and inefficient, I stood there. But my perplexity was shattered by another surprise. A compact, wiry form hurled itself between us. It was Sausalito, her face livid with fury! "You let that woman be!" she shrieked, panting, glaring. Makuik shrugged his shoulders and pushed the Eskimo woman roughly toward her fellow wives. Then, turning, he glanced contemptuously at Sausalito. "No good ... you eat." He leered, swinging off toward his sub-cellar. "Dog-face!" screamed Sausalito. "Pig's-foot...." Triplett's great hammer fist struck her squarely on the jaw and she sank limp in his arms. Late that night I lay tossing on my blankets, prey to a thousand conflicting emotions, fear, joy, and sickening anxiety, beneath which, like the burden of a refrain, ran the overwhelming thought: "She loves me. Sausalito loves me. What shall I do?" It was the first time such a proposition had ever daunted me. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 17: Literally. "When the wine of his love Is the grave of his wit." See "The Song of Beer-wolf," trans. by Ola Ramberg.] [Footnote 18: Puvis de Bloue says, in his "Voyages Blageux" (Flammarion ed., 1918) "les yeux sont l'enemie de la verité."] [Footnote 19: A variant of the always interesting skunk family, distinguished by the constant orientation of its physical peculiarity. It is perfectly safe to capture these little fellows from the south. The Arctic type has been found as far south as Lake Wayagamac. (See "Among the Moufette." J. Pell, Col. Coll., N.Y.) The pair captured by Plock had been nullified by the usual method. Author.] Chapter VII _Still procrastinating. Our pastimes at the Pole. An exchange of love-tokens. Ikik's avowal. Caught in the embrace of the Aurora._ Chapter VII The longer I live the more of a fatalist I become. Looking back on the weeks which followed our meeting with Makuik and his family I see myself powerless in the grip of a force superior to my own. How else can I account for the procrastination which, day after day, week after week, held me in my perilous location. For that it was perilous my brain told me clearly.