Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a gasp of alarm and surprise, for, seemingly right behind him, sounded a snarling howl. He turned and looked eagerly, and ran in that direction for a few steps, breathless, yet there was no sign of man or beast. He listened intently. No sound for a moment, then right behind his back the howl sounded again, this time with a chuckle like laughter in it, and he gave an exclamation of disgust, for the bundle no longer lay dark upon the snow. The ghost wolves had found their offering and made off with it. It seemed to Joe, as he looked about, as if he could see a blur of a white figure moving along against a white snow ridge, and he brought his rifle to his shoulder to shoot, then hesitated, thinking he must have imagined it, so indistinct was the impression. As he hesitated, he saw another blur of white over a near-by ridge, almost within arm’s reach, with what looked like an evil face in it, and before he could turn, a heavy mass of frozen snow struck him in the head and stretched him senseless. The figure of a white bear with the face of a man leaned over him, then lifted its head and gave forth the wolf howl, a different cry from the others heard that night. There was no chuckle in this howl. It was rather a cry of rage which carried in itself a command, and it had scarcely ceased before three other bear-like figures hurried up. These, too, had the faces of men and they walked erect, yet they left behind tracks of claws. Hurried low words were spoken in Eskimo, and the four took up the motionless figure and carried it away from the igloos, yet a little toward the ship, down a long furrow behind a drift, to a place on the shore where the ice crushing in during the early fall had left a sheltering ridge. Here they vanished with their burden as if they had been dissipated into air. Harry’s watch was long that night on the deck of the Bowhead. He felt appallingly lonely long before midnight, and it was all he could do to keep from setting out for the shore to see what was happening at the igloos. The ghost wolves seemed less a matter of superstition now that Joe’s sturdy presence was lacking, and he waited with apprehension for their howling, and shivered with nervous dread when it began. He watched narrowly, and saw what he thought was one figure go out from the igloo and return in the uncertain light. Again he heard the howling, now far, now seemingly near, and watching, with his rifle under his arm, he was surprised to see a figure appear dimly in the snow far over on the ridge. He saw this figure move back and forth. Then, to his astonishment, it seemed to rise up from the ground in a horizontal position and move off, disappearing again. All this was strange and disquieting, and for a long time there was silence.