For five days the Indian guide drove his dogs over the smooth crust, and on the sixth day, about noon, halting in a hollow, he pointed to tracks in the snow and called out: "Ageter! Ageter! Ageter!" The hunters saw sharply defined hoof-marks, not unlike the tracks of reindeer, except that they were longer.

The tepee was set up on the spot and the dogs unharnessed.
The Indian led the way with the dogs, and Rea and Jones followed, slipping over the hard crust without sinking in and traveling swiftly.
Soon the guide, pointing, again let out the cry: "Ageter!" at the same moment loosing the dogs.
Some few hundred yards down the hollow, a number of large black animals, not unlike the shaggy, humpy buffalo, lumbered over the snow.
Jones echoed Rea's yell, and broke into a run, easily distancing the puffing giant.
The musk-oxen squared round to the dogs, and were soon surrounded by the yelping pack.

Jones came up to find six old bulls uttering grunts of rage and shaking ram-like horns at their tormentors.

Notwithstanding that for Jones this was the cumulation of years of desire, the crowning moment, the climax and fruition of long-harbored dreams, he halted before the tame and helpless beasts, with joy not unmixed with pain.
"It will be murder!" he exclaimed.

"It's like shooting down sheep." Rea came crashing up behind him and yelled, "Get busy.