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Updated: May 31, 2025
Kamiska started up at once, cocking alternate ears, then turned about and ran up the hill to meet Ward Bennett, who came scrambling down, jumping from one granite outcrop to another, holding on the whiles by the lower branches of the scrub oak-trees. He was dressed as if for an outing, in knickerbockers and huge, hob-nailed shoes.
Kamiska took her place again by his side, and the two resumed their vigil. Meanwhile, not fifty feet away, a low voice, monotonous and rapid, was keeping up a continuous, murmuring flow of words. "That's well your number two sledge. All hands on the McClintock now. You've got to do it, men.
Kamiska stopped her barking, sniffed once or twice at the man's trouser legs; then, in brusque frenzy of delight, leaped against him, licking his hands, dancing about him on two legs, whining and yelping. Bennett came forward, and the man changed his position so that the light from the half-open front door shone upon his face. "Why, Adler!" exclaimed Bennett; "well, where did you come from?" "Mr.
Disregarding the man's warning, she went up to the stranger, whistling and holding out her hand, and he came up to her a little suspiciously at first, but in the end wagging his tail, willing to be friendly. Lloyd parted the thick fur around his neck and turned the plate of the collar to the light. On the plate was engraved: "Kamiska, Arctic S.S. 'Freja. Return to Ward Bennett."
"Your dog has killed our Dan, and, what is much worse, started to eat him. He's a perfect savage." "Kamiska? Well," he added, reflectively, "it's my fault for setting her a bad example. I ate her trace-mate, and was rather close to eating Kamiska herself at one time. But I didn't come down here to talk about that." "You are looking rather worn, Mr. Bennett." "I suppose.
Kamiska had risen to her feet with a low growl, then, as the gate-latch clinked, she threw up her head and gave tongue to the night with all the force of her lungs. Bennett straightened up, thanking fortune that the night was dark, and looked about him. A figure was coming up the front walk, the gravel crunching under foot. It was the figure of a man.
He and the dog Kamiska were companions inseparable. At long intervals visitors presented themselves Dr. Street, or Pitts, or certain friends of Bennett's. But the great rush of interviewers, editors, and projectors of marvellous schemes that had crowded Bennett's anterooms during the spring and early summer was conspicuously dwindling.
Their names and that of the ship herself, even the names of Adler, Hansen, Clarke, and Dennison, even Muck Tu, even that of Kamiska, the one surviving dog, filled the mouths and minds of men to the exclusion of everything else. The return of the expedition after its long imprisonment in the ice and at a time when all hope of its safety had been abandoned was one of the great events of that year.
Once or twice from the little orchard close at hand an apple dropped with a faint rustle of leaves and a muffled, velvety impact upon the turf. Kamiska, wide awake, sat motionless upon her haunches on the steps, looking off into the night, cocking an ear to every faintest sound. Well, Ferriss was dead, and he, Bennett, was responsible. His friend, the man whom most he loved, was dead.
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