The next moment he saw Joe, struggling weakly on the snow beside him, held down by other men clad in bearskins. He heard these bear-like men speak in Eskimo to one another. His own hands and Joe’s were hurriedly bound with walrus-hide thongs; then the five men,—he could count them now and take note of their actions,—rifle in hand, advanced toward the ship. They began to shoot hastily and inaccurately, as Eskimos will. The struggle had taken place almost entirely under the snow, and the shot which had missed Harry was the first thing to call the attention of Kroo and his men to the affray. Harluk and Kroo could not fire while it lasted, lest they shoot their friends. Konwa, however, mighty bear hunter and fearing nothing but ghosts, set his walrus spear at the charge and plunged valiantly at the group. He received one of the first bullets from the fusillade and fell. Kroo and Harluk, seeing themselves over-matched, and both Harry and Joe out of the combat, emptied their rifles hastily and without aim, then turned and fled before the superior numbers. The battle seemed lost. Joe and Harry tugged in vain at their bonds. Konwa lay face down upon his walrus spear, and Kroo and Harluk fled for safety. One, who seemed to be a leader of the enemy, spoke to the others. “Let them go,” he said in Eskimo. “We can get them later. Let us attend to these two first.” He beckoned to another, and the two took a stand by Joe and Harry. Harry recognized the one by him as the man with whom he had first struggled, and he saw with much satisfaction that one of his eyes was well closed by that last blow. The other eye, however, looked upon him with an evil gleam of vindictive triumph in it. He leveled his rifle full at Harry’s head. “Shoot,” he said to the other one, who had taken a similar position by Joe. “We will be well rid of the dogs.” Over on the ship madam bear had just received the charge from the Springfield musket, and was plunging and kicking in the death agony on the snow. Her mate watched this with dismay, then anger, and finally rushed in blind fury at the thing that had hurt her. He swept the rifle three rods away with one blow of his mighty paw. Then he plunged at the toll kettle, bit at it, and crushed it to his chest with one great bear’s hug. The tin can flattened, the oil showered from his shoulders to his feet as he stood erect in his rage, and igniting, made of him a huge torch that rushed landward over the snow, a dancing figure of flame that snarled and roared, leaped and somersaulted. Harluk and Kroo saw this strange apparition first, and fled to the right and left with yells of superstitious fear. On it came, tearing across the snow, right toward the outlaw Eskimos and their victims. The two about to murder hesitated and lowered their rifles. “What is it? What is it?” asked the men of the bearskins, one of another, and the reply was but one word, “Ghost.”