North of Eighty-six a man's rights are what he takes, a woman's what she can get. The facts of this particular case are as follows: Lapatok had captured a young pemmican in a snare of her own devising. Unaware that she was being observed by the all-seeing eye of her husband, Makuik, she began stripping off the bird's feathers and scales (with which its underside is covered) with her teeth, apparently preparatory to eating it. This is absolutely contrary to Kryptok law. All food is the common property of the family and must be instantly brought before the Aklok or Strong Man to be cached by him in the community food bin. Failure to do this means death. Makuik was quick to act. The expression on his face leaves no doubt that he would speedily have exacted the extreme penalty (partial as he was to Lapatok) had she not been able, with her next-to-last breath, to gasp out the time-honored words "Na-pok!"--"our child." In the few moments allowed her she explained that her intention had been merely to masticate the bird, giving the first share to Kopek, her infant, who was at that very moment desperately stricken with the teething-sickness, and bringing the remainder to her lord and master. With true womanly ingenuity she likewise pleaded that as the latest of Makuik's wives and a member of the Klinka tribe she knew nothing of Kryptok law. She thus appealed both to her husband's heart and head with the result that he let her off with nothing more serious than a severe beating which was terminated by the stern injunction, "Kapok Fakalok ook."--"A woman's place is in the Igloo." The pemmican in the meanwhile escaped and may be seen as illustrated, winging his way out of focus. As if touched by his wife's plea and anxious to re-establish both her good-will and his own authority, Makuik later killed the fowl on the wing with sling-dart thrown from a distance of forty salmon-spears. (Approximately 280 ft.) [Illustration: Dirty Work at the Igloo?] And now we were to experience that fatal lack of living game which as I have noted, seems to haunt the foot steps of the hunter to whom game is a dreadful necessity. The season was still early and bird life was practically extinct north of the circle. Occasionally we sighted an isolated pemmican or a tiny lapwing, too distant or too small to be shot at. Our store of ammunition was much too scarce to be wasted in pot shots. Of seals and walruses we saw absolutely none. Day after day, in the grisly dawn of the new season, we crept on. Day after day we tightened our belts and stared each other in the face. And in the face of each stared a spectre more grisly still. A few entries from my diary will best record the harrowing tale of what followed. "Feb. 23rd. Ate the last of herring this noon. Reduced wheat ration to 1/2 cake for person. Sorted extra clothing (Plock's) for possible food.