The dogs' wild impulses roused.

They raised the hunting-cry of the pack, surged against their collars, and swerved aside in pursuit.

Daylight, yelling "Whoa!" struggled with the gee-pole and managed to overturn the sled into the soft snow.

The dogs gave up, the sled was righted, and five minutes later they were flying along the hard-packed trail again.

The lynx was the only sign of life they had seen in two days, and it, leaping velvet-footed and vanishing, had been more like an apparition.
At twelve o'clock, when the sun peeped over the earth-bulge, they stopped and built a small fire on the ice.