ing," he admitted at last.
The Sculpin threw back his head, took a long breath of the cold air, and laughed. The danger they faced seemed to give him pleasure.
O'Neil's clothes were wet, and they made him shiver as the stiffening ice-envelope rubbed against his body. His head was pounding and the chill of his freezing garments was eating into his blood.
The men huddled together, a helpless mob, and the wind whipped stinging particles of ice and snow into their faces.
"Blowin' harder every minute," whined Scotly in despair.
"Let it come," sang the Sculpin, a smile of delight at the prospect wreathing his ice-cemented face. "Let it come. I ain't afraid."
O'Neil knew a desire to sleep was a symptom of freezing, yet his eyes would close in spite of him, and the icicles on his lashes seemed to lock his eyes if he even winked.
"Every man for himself," he said, and slumped to the ice.
"Steady, boys." The Sculpin's voice rose above the howl of the storm. "He's down. I'll take command."
The frightened men accepted his leadership, for not one of them knew what to do. He ordered them to build a wall of frozen seal-bodies, ice, and snow. When it was done, they crouched close together in the lee of it for protection from the wind. The blow on the head had left O'Neil as spiritless as a jelly-fish, so the Sculpin got him to his feet and kept him walking.
"It's no use. We're done for."
"Without a fight," bellowed the Sculpin, angrily.
Holding O'Neil at arm's length, he deliberately struck the master-watch in the face with his gloved fist.
"Gone clean off his head," said Scotty. "I say, you—"
"Get back," barked the Sculpin, pushing Scotty into the lee of the wall. "I'm in command."
"Crazy as a stingaree," whispered Scotty to himself; but he obeyed. "Now, you slacker," the Sculpin bellowed at O'Neil. "You've got to fight."
O'Neil did not want to fight; he wanted to be left alone—to sleep. The sting of the Sculpin's blows roused him, and he attempted to ward them off. Then, in petulance, he fought back; but not much science can be shown with nearly a pound of ice and frozen woolen on each hand.
The Sculpin tripped over the body of a dead seal and fell. O'Neil, now thoroughly angry, leaped onto the fallen body and clawed for the throat; but the oil-skins were buttoned high and thick with ice, and his frozen mittens made a choking hold impossible.
"Say when," yelled the Sculpin, as they rolled over and over, a confused jumble of flying arms and legs.
The snow they kicked up in the struggle was pounced on by the wind and instantly streaked away into the dusk. The Sculpin slammed O'Neil into a drift and sat on his chest.
"Enough," panted O'Neil.
"Awake?" the Sculpin asked, and O'Neil nodded assurance. "Then listen." The Sculpin spoke slowly, and earnestly. "I've taken your place, here—on the ice. You take my place,
