We drive up through a deep gully, between the glacier and the mountain. A stream-bed makes the going easy and pleasant, except where, in places, large stones have forced their way through. About 600 feet aloft, we are able to drive on to the glacier, which rounds itself smoothly upwards like a shining marble back. The sun is scorching our faces, and the sun rays, which are flung back by the endless icefields, force us to close our eyes, so brilliant are they.
The dogs drag us up slowly, with dripping tongues hanging far out of their mouths.
The sun, the heat, and the frozen walrus flesh we have devoured, make us feel heavy and inert. We try to rouse ourselves by walking alongside the sledges, but perspiration drenches our clothes, and finally we both tumble back upon them and drop asleep.
I am awakened by my dogs stopping to look round and see what has become of me. I rub my eyes, and for a moment do not know where I am. Dazzled by the light, I see nothing but the sun; fire flashes in front of my eyes, and the whole of the cold glacier seems transformed into a white-hot mass. I am on the crest of the glacier, which unrolls itself monotonously as far as the eye can reach. But where is Piuaitsoq? The ice-crust is hard and shows no traces. Where am I to begin looking for him?
There is nothing to be done but to let the dogs scent him out; so I mutter a little word between my teeth: "tyu, tyu, tyu!" The dogs forget the heat, and begin to sniff. And I know, when they spring forward at a gallop, that they have scented either Piuaitsoq, or a reindeer crossing the glacier. It is not long before a sledge comes into sight ahead, and the sleeping Piuaitsoq jumps up with a shout, as the two teams collide, barking.
Later in the afternoon we reached the camp where Sorqaq had put up. The tents lay under a steep, clean-cut mountain ridge, which from its shape bore the name of "The Curved Knife." It was notorious for its sudden squalls of wind when there were storms about. We were still some distance away
