A
third Eskimo, who is running between us and the dogs with the whip,
takes up the sound and the dogs obey. But as it seems hard for them
through the long grass, I get off and run after till we come to the
corner by the church. It will go easier along the path to the _left_.
I seat myself again and the driver cries "Ra, Ra, Ra." Away we go. It
is well I was wary of the stones, another inch and that rock just
passed would have given me a sore foot or a sprained ankle. "Owk,
Owk." We leave the path on our left and turn away to the _right_ over
rocks and moss. The ground is broken but the long runners of the
sledge make it go fairly smoothly. "Ah, Ah," or as Thomas pronounces
it long drawn, "Aw, Aw." At this sound the dogs stop and lie down,
with their tails curled over their backs. We are supposed to have
arrived at a halting place where we shall camp out for the night.
The wood is unloaded; to make the fire would be the first thing and
then perhaps a snow-house for a shelter. The sleeping sack is ready to
be my night's couch on the floor. Meanwhile, the dogs lie quite
contentedly, and we use the first opportunity to count them.
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