While, as I have said, the real sense of hunger passes away quickly
there remains the instinct to eat. That is the working of the first
law of nature--self-preservation. It prompts one to eat anything that
one can chew or swallow, and it is what makes men eat refuse the
thought of which would sicken them at other times. Of course, Easton
and I were like everybody else under similar conditions. Easton said
one day that he would like to have something to chew on. In the
refuse on the floor I found a piece of deerskin about ten inches
square. I singed the hair off of it and divided it equally between us
and then we each roasted our share and ate it. That was the evening
after we had "slept" five times.

After disposing of our bit of deerskin we huddled down on the floor
with our heads pillowed upon sticks of wood, as was our custom, for a
sixth night, after discussing again the probable fate of the Eskimos.
While I did not admit to Easton that I entertained any doubt as to our
ultimate rescue, as the days passed and no relief came I felt grave
fears as to the safety of Potokomik and his companions. The severe
storm that swept over the country after their departure from the shack
had no doubt materially deepened the snow, and I questioned whether or
not this had made it impossible for them to travel without snowshoes.
The wind during the second day of the storm had been heavy, and it was
my hope that it had swept the barrens clear of the new snow, but this
was uncertain and doubtful. Then, too, I did not know the nature of
Eskimos--whether they were wont to give up quickly in the face of
unusual privations and difficulties such as these men would have to
encounter. They were in a barren country, with no food, no blankets,
no tent, no protection, in fact, of any kind from the elements, and it
was doubtful whether they would find material for a fire at night to