‘Just tried to kill us,’ Hal said. ‘Stole our food from the cache.’ ‘He should go to prison for that.’ ‘He doesn’t know any better,’ said Hal. ‘Empty up here?’ said one man, tapping his head. Hal nodded. He noticed that the Eskimo who had just spoken was on crutches. One foot was gone. ‘What happened to your foot?’ ‘I ate it.’ ‘You’re joking,’ said Hal. ‘It was no joke,’ replied the Eskimo, a fine-looking fellow, strong, and taller than most of his people. ‘You know,what a bad place it is —up there on the ice cap. I went for days without one scrap of food. My right foot froze solid. There was no feeling in it at all. I couldn’t give it the snow rub — the wind had blown away the snow. If I didn’t do something, gangrene would crawl up my leg and kill me. So I took my snow knife and chopped off my foot.’ ‘Wasn’t that very painful?’ ‘I didn’t feel it at all. All I knew was that I would die if I didn’t get something to eat. So I ate my foot.’ ‘I don’t blame you,’ said Hal.
