It was a change for them from the pemmican diet.

It was fresh meat, it was hot, and they seemed thoroughly to enjoy it.

But though I remembered many times when from sheer starvation I had been glad to eat dog meat raw, I did not feel inclined to join in the feast of my dusky friends.
A little after midnight, on the morning of April 2, after a few hours of sound, warm, and refreshing sleep, and a hearty breakfast, I started to lift the trail to the north, leaving the others to pack, hitch up, and follow.

As I climbed the pressure ridge back of our igloo, I took up another hole in my belt, the third since I left the land--thirty-two days before.

Every man and dog of us was as lean and flat-bellied as a board, and as hard.
Up to this time I had intentionally kept in the rear, to straighten out any little hitch or to encourage a man with a broken sledge, and to see that everything was in good marching order.