"It's quite right, my lad. These bears are dangerous, destructive beasts, and would have given us no mercy. Besides, we must get a cargo to take back." A hail brought up the sailors, who were sent back in the boat for the other two Norsemen, while Johannes and Jakobsen, after carefully cleaning the blades of their lances, laid them against a rock, took off their jackets, rolled up their sleeves, and then, taking out their knives, began to skin the great bear. At this time Andrew came up limping. "Well, brave man!" said the doctor; "wounded?" "Ah, she can be brave eneuch when there's ony occasion, sir," said Andrew. "But she never war grand at fechting bear, and she thocht she'd get oot o' the way o' the shooting." "And you did," said the captain contemptuously. "There, go and fetch that piece you threw away." "Nay, it slippit oot o' my fingers, sir. It was after she'd fired it, though." "The least said the soonest mended, McByle," said the captain coldly. "You had better hold your tongue, and go and find that rifle. I may as well tell you, though, that my opinion of your bravery is not very high." "Nay, sir, dinna be hard upon a puir mon. Ye dinna ken a' aboot me the yet." "I know enough. Don't talk, man; go and find the rifle, and then come and help the skinning here." "She will, sir; but, doctor, is her _leg_ brukkit?" "Eh? Bah! no. A bit sprained at the ankle joint. When you fell, I suppose?" "Ay, sir. Ye see she had to try so hard to save her head, she couldna attend to her legs and feet," said Andrew, with a cunning look at the doctor, as he limped off in search of the rifle, leaving the rest examining the magnificent animal lying motionless among the stones. It was an enormous beast, with a coat of long, silky, cream-coloured fur, which hung down from its sides, and hid the claws when its feet were spread out. "No wonder he could stand the polar winters with a great-coat like that, eh, Steve?" cried the doctor. "Why, my lad, you must have that skin carefully dressed, and use it as an ornament for your drawing-room when you have one." "_I_?" cried the boy. "To be sure; it was your shot that brought him down, eh, Marsham?" "Certainly," replied the captain; "he gave the finishing stroke." The conversation was getting so personal that Steve walked away to where Skene crouched in a soft, sandy place, his ears cocked up and his eyes intent upon the actions of the two Norsemen, who were working away at the skinning; and as every now and then their tugging at the tough hide gave a slight movement to the left fore leg of the bear, the dog kept jumping up, uttering a fierce growl, ruffling up the hair about his neck, and showing his teeth as if about to attack. "Down, Skeny! down, boy!" cried Steve, as the dog made one of these demonstrations. "Let's have a look at you. Where are you hurt?"