As Phi and his dog reached the top of the cliff and were about to step upon the uneven, snow-covered tableland which lay before them, the boy's eyes chanced to light upon a strange looking brown mass which lay on the rock beneath the shelter of a projecting ledge.

"What do you suppose that is?" he said to the dog, at the same time stepping aside to examine it. "It's a net," he commented. "Too fine for a fish net—must be a bird net. That'd be good luck for us if it were summer. Place must be alive with birds then from the looks of all the deserted nests, but now—now you're no good to us." He kicked the net contemptuously. "Tell us one thing though," he confided to Rover; "there are people on this island, or at least have been. Natives of some kind, they must be, for no white man would have the patience to make a net of sealskin as fine as that. Question is, were they just camping here to gather eggs or do they live here? If they live here, what kind of people are they? Well, anyway, let's go see."

Wearily he dragged his tired limbs up a gentle slope. Wearily the old dog followed on.

But as they reached the crest the dog became suddenly alert. His ears cocked up, his legs stiff, he sniffed the air.

"What's that, old fellow? Birds? You've a bit of bird dog blood in you. Lots of leaders have, but I guess you're mistaken. Not birds this late in the year."

He moved forward a few feet, then his mouth flew open, but no sound came out. Had he seen a white streak flit across the snow? He had. There was another and another.

Slowly he backed away. Followed reluctantly by the dog, he retreated to the rocky shelf where lay the net.

"We may be able to use you yet," he remarked as he picked up an end of the net. "If you're not too rotten, you'll serve us a good turn. There are ptarmigan out there. Don't know how many, but enough if we catch them. Ptarmigan are good too," he smiled at the dog, "good as quail and about as plump. Boy, Oh, boy! won't we feast though if only we can catch them? But," he sobered suddenly, "how I'm going to drop both ends of this net at just the right moment is more than I can tell."

The net proved to be in serviceable condition. It was some ten yards by three wide and was of a finely woven mesh. Two ten-foot poles lay farther back under the ledge. One of these was quickly attached to an end of the net, then the net wound upon it. The second stake was fastened to the remaining loose end.

Carrying the net to a level stretch at the top of a ridge, he unrolled it, then for a full five minutes stood studying it. At last he turned thoughtfully to the right and strolled along the net. Suddenly something caught his foot and he sprawled upon the ground.

Rising, he looked at the thing that had tripped him. Then a light of joy spread over his face.

"Creeping willows!" he exclaimed. "The very thing!"

He spent the next three minutes pulling at long strands of creeping willows. When he had found two long, strong ones, he left them still fast to earth at one end and went for his net. One pole he set on end and proceeded to fasten it there by the aid of the creeping willows, guying it to right and left, as a flag-pole is often braced. He then ran out the length of his net and, having pulled it tight, with the other pole perpendicular, he gave this pole a sudden pull and twist, then threw it to the ground. The net went flat.

"Capital!" he cried. "That will do it."

Having reset his net he took a long, circular route; he came up at last a hundred yards from his fence-like net. The dog had followed meekly at his heels, but now, seeming to sense what was needed, he began rocking back and forth, first to the right, then to the left. Now and then a white spot rose a foot or two above the snow to soar forward. The boy's eyes snapped. Here was sport that meant life to him and to his dog if they won.

Now they neared the net. His heart beat fast. Suppose the birds should rise and soar away? Then all this work would be lost. But they still ran or fluttered forward.

"Must be eight or ten of them," was his mental comment.

Now they were nearing the net. Veering swiftly to one side, the boy raced to the reclining pole. Lifting it lightly he drew the net to position. So white were the birds that he could scarcely distinguish them from the snow. But, suddenly, he caught a faint shock. A bird in low flight had struck the net. With wildly beating heart, he threw the net to the snow, then went racing down its length.

"One," he exclaimed, fairly beside himself, "two, three, four." Each time he named the count he had drawn a bird from the meshes. At last he was to the end and sank down exhausted. The dog was at his side.

"Rover, old top," he murmured, "four of em; four beauties! We eat, old top! We eat!"

The dog's eyes rolled hungrily, but he did not offer to touch the birds.

With eager, trembling fingers the boy tore the feathers from two of the birds, then tossed to the dog the wings, legs and back, reserving for himself the dark, rich meat of the breasts, a food fit for a king's table. He cut this off in thin strips and spread it upon a hard-packed bank of snow. The thermometer must stand at ten below. The thin strips would soon be frozen solid. They would then be almost as palatable as if they had been cooked.

With a meal in sight, he found his mind becoming more composed. His thoughts wandered back to the question of the nature of the land he had discovered.

Little knowing what lay just before him, he munched the frozen strips of flesh; then, strengthened and enheartened, he began making plans for a night on the newly discovered land.

A freezing wind swept across the plateau. He must find shelter from this if he was to secure the sleep his tired form demanded. After a search, he found a rocky crevice which, by the aid of some squares of snow cut from a near-by bank, he converted into a three-sided house, with the open side away from the wind. From the sheltered sides of the great rocks that lay tumbled about here and there, he gathered moss by the armful and carrying it to his house, made a thick soft bed for himself and the dog.

His next thought was of a fire. He had no desire to eat more raw meat, besides he was not unmindful of the cheering influence of even a tiny blaze. The ground was everywhere over-run with creeping willows. These he clipped off with his hunting knife and tied in bundles. Some were dry and dead. These he kept in a separate bundle. When he had an armload, he carried them to a spot near the door of the house.

He had no matches, but this did not trouble him. Cutting off a foot of a pole used with the net, he split it in two pieces. One of these halves he split again and from these smaller pieces he formed the bow and drill of an Eskimo bow-drill. With a tough creeping willow runner for a string to his bow, with dry moss for tinder, he soon had, first a smoke, then a blaze. Not long after this, he was turning a carefully picked and cleaned fowl over a cheerful flame.

Having broiled this to a turn, he shared it with the dog, then lay down to sleep. Before the sweet oblivion of sleep quieted his aching muscles, the old haunting questions came back to him, "What land? What people?" There were but two questions now; the third had been temporarily solved; they still had a bird for breakfast, and that there were others to be caught he did not doubt.