There came a week of chinook weather just at the last of February. The Indian tribes a thousand miles to the south have named the warm wind from the Japanese current “chinook,” from the name of a tribe whose habitat was to the southwest of them, the direction whence this wind came, and the name has come to be applied to it the continent over. Down there, no doubt, this chinook melted the snow, and gave the first promise of coming spring. The faint breath of it that reached the far Arctic regions where our friends wintered could do nothing of that sort, but it did bring a period of mild, clear weather, when the dry air seemed positively warm during the few hours of sunshine, while through the long night, under the dancing light of the aurora, the thermometer barely descended to zero. The first night of this warm weather and faintly breathing southern air brought two bears in from the ice-fields, one of which was killed at the trap. The boys, rushing out, saw the other on the ice near by, and Harry killed him by a lucky moonlight shot with the 45-70. Thus two fine pelts were added to their collection, which now numbered ten fine and three less valuable ones, captured by themselves or bought from their Eskimo friends. Joe figured that the value of these in the San Francisco fur market would not be less than a thousand dollars, and they decided that they would keep watch while the south wind lasted and thus lose no chances of getting more. That night Harry called Joe hastily, and the two, fur-wrapped and rifle in hand, listened into the magnificent whiteness of the moon-flooded night. “There!” cried Harry. “There it is!” A low, half-fierce, half-mournful, wailing howl came from the ridge of land above the Eskimo village. It was repeated to the right and left, and came again and again at brief intervals. “Wolves?” asked Harry. “I should think so,” said Joe; “but”— Both boys shivered and drew nearer together, as if for mutual protection. The weird glamour of the Arctic night was upon them, and they thought again of the story that Harluk had told them of the winter ghosts at Icy Cape. “Look there,” cried Joe. “The Eskimos are out.” They dimly saw two figures, in the radiance of the full moon, come from the direction of the Eskimo village. Silhouetted against the snow, they moved to the right and left of the ridge, seemed to pause a moment, and then went back. There came the wolf-like howling again, but this time it had a sort of jubilant ring in it. It was heard no more that night, though both boys were up for a considerable time listening for it. At dawn the next day Harluk appeared with woe in his countenance. “Good-by,” he said; “Eskimo all go to-day.” “But why?” asked Joe in wonder; “are you not all right here with us?”