Here all was deserted and silent. Bits of seal and walrus hide and bones
and tusks were scattered about in all directions, but no voices issued
from the dome-shaped huts of snow.
"They're the likest things to bee-skeps I ever saw," remarked Saunders,
as he and his party stood contemplating the little group of huts. "And
they don't seem to care much for big doors."
Saunders referred here to the low tunnels, varying from three to twelve
feet, that formed the entrance to each hut.
"Mayhap there's some o' them asleep inside," suggested Tom Green, the
carpenter's mate; "suppose we go in and see."
"I daresay ye're no far wrong," replied the second mate, to whom the
idea seemed to be a new one. "Go in, Davie Summers, ye're a wee chap,
and can bend your back better than the most o' us."
Davie laughed as he went down on his hands and knees, and creeping in
at the mouth of one of the tunnels, which barely permitted him to enter
in that position, disappeared.
Several of the party at the same time paid similar visits to the other
huts, but they all returned with the same remark--"empty." The interiors
were begrimed with lamp-black and filth, and from their appearance
seemed to have been deserted only a short time before.
Buzzby, who formed one of the party, rubbed his nose for some time in
great perplexity, until he drew from Davie Summers the remark that his
proboscis was red enough by nature and didn't need rubbing.
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