When the natives had given thanks to their gods for bringing plenty of walrus, they cut the heads off their prizes (for the ivory) and secured about three tons of the flesh for their families on shore. Then, in the launch, we started for the next herd that lay undisturbed, leaving the first mob to settle down again. There were twelve walrus lying upon this floe, covering it from rim to rim. My picture-taking and shooting had to be done from the skin boat. I had my Kodak ready, and as the Eskimos leaned over the gunwale of the boat and took aim I "snapped" my pictures just as fast as they could shoot, making my exposures without a moment's hesitation, without the slightest regard for background, foreground, shadows, or anything else. Two of the walrus fell dead upon the ice-floe, and another arose in the water close to the boat, the blood streaming from his head. Two shots were fired, and a spear was launched into his body with a rope attached to keep him from sinking. He was soon pulled alongside, his head cut off, and his body allowed to sink to the bottom of the sea. [Illustration: A SNAP-SHOT TAKEN FROM THE ESKIMO SKIN-BOAT. _From a Photograph._] Presently the old native leader saw a very large walrus fast asleep; it had wonderfully long tusks, and he set out to dispatch the monster by the primitive method used by his forefathers. He carried a spear about five feet long, with a rope of walrus hide attached to an inflated sealskin. Hanging the rope in a coil around his neck, he crawled upon his stomach with the stealth of a cat, until he got within three feet of where the animal lay. I expected to see him poise and throw the shaft, but instead he rammed it with all his force into the walrus's body. The creature started, turned its head round, and glared at him. Then the enormous mass of flesh arose, and with a few spasmodic jumps made for the water in a hobbling canter. With the spear stuck in his side and his splay feet working like paddles upon the ice, he rolled off the floe like a sack of wool, floundering and plunging wildly. At first he pulled the bladder under the surface of the water, but his great strength soon failed him, and the bladder appeared floating on the water. One of the natives, a boy about fifteen years, was out in the boat watching for him, and when he poked his head above the surface to breathe the lad shot him and hauled him alongside. At this stage of the hunt we all went back to the launch for lunch, and also to give our quarry time to recuperate. The menu consisted of one five-gallon can filled with walrus meat. The natives took large strips of the half-cooked marine beef, and with their hands forced as much of it into their mouths as the opening would contain. Then, with a knife they cut it off close to their lips. Dick was sitting on his haunches picking out the lean pieces and devouring it like a native, and I received a hearty invitation to join them in this Arctic banquet. I did try