  Immediately upon approaching the foot of the glacier Dick and Sandy could see what a dangerous struggle was to be theirs in attempting to scale the mountain of ice. For hundreds of years the ice had frozen there, layer upon layer, filled with great holes and cracks, its own great weight forcing it to move toward sea level. “I don’t see how we’re ever going to climb it,” Sandy gasped. “Well, I don’t either,” admitted Dick, “but Mistak must have got to the top, and anything he can do, the King’s policemen can do.” “Heap big mountain ice,” commented Toma. “Ketchum sore head if slide down to bottom.” “You’re right,” Dick could not help but laugh at Toma’s remark in spite of the seriousness of the task ahead of them. “Well, boys,” Constable Sloan came forward, interrupting them, “we’ll have to use man power now. Here’s a good chance for you fellows to test your biceps. There are six of us, so that leaves three to a sled. Sipsa, Toma and myself will take the first sledge—that leaves you boys and the Corporal for the second. It won’t take much head work, but lots of backbone. Let’s go!” Dick and Sandy watched, with interest, the starting of the first sledge up the steep incline, men and dogs straining with every ounce of strength in them. When at last they disappeared around a huge knob of ice and snow, they sent a lusty cheer after them, and set to work themselves to push their sledge up. It took a half hour of pushing and hauling before they reached a point that was level enough for them to rest comfortably. “Much more of this and I’ll turn to water,” panted Sandy, throwing back his parka and revealing the perspiration standing out in huge drops that froze almost as soon as they came in contact with the air. “Better keep that parka over your head,” cautioned Corporal McCarthy. “A little too much of this air when you’re overheated will frost your lungs, and you know what that means.” Sandy remembered that frost bitten lungs often brought on more serious ailments, and hurriedly bundled up his face. An hour more of strenuous climbing brought them to a point half way up the wall of the glacier. They could see the first sledge going up far above them, like a caterpillar tank, the dogs and men pushing and pulling it appearing like so many ants hauling a gram of wheat to their home hill. Dick took a deep breath and looked down, grasping Sandy’s arm to call his attention to the vast scene that lay below them. Far away they could see the mainland which they had left the day before. The open water glittered like diamonds where the floating ice lay, and the beach of the island seemed more like a ribbon than a piece of land. “It makes me dizzy,” said Sandy. “Yes, but there’s something inspiring about it,” returned Dick. “It’s desolate and frozen and lonely, but just the same it’s beautiful because it’s so clean and white and still.” “I guess you just about hit the nail on the head that time,” spoke up Corporal McCarthy, who was standing just behind them. “But there’s death in that beauty. I hope you boys never have to see all of what I mean. Now let’s get to work on this sledge.” Refreshed by their rest, the boys buckled down to the job with a will, and for considerable distance all went well as before. Then, when they were just reaching a point where they might breathe again, the rope which the policeman was pulling on broke loose from the sledge, and with the shock of the freed weight, Dick slipped, the sledge sliding back upon Sandy who was pushing from behind. For an instant the sturdy Scotch lad held the full weight of the heavy sledge, then with a faint cry of dismay, he started down, the sledge on top of him. “Oh, Sandy!” Dick gave a shout of anguish, as, slipping and sliding, he held on to the rope he had been pulling on. Corporal McCarthy leaped down to Dick’s aid, but the sledge had gained momentum and, white faced, they could only hang on hoping the sledge would catch on the rough ice before it began to turn over. Faster and faster the sledge began to slide, pushing Sandy before it, his shirt pinched under the runners, and dragging the frantically struggling two after it. “We’ve got to stop it before it reaches the edge of that shelf!” cried Corporal McCarthy. “If it ever goes over the edge, Sandy is gone!” But they had started a miniature avalanche of ice and snow by their struggles and this rolling along underfoot made firm footing impossible to find. One last heave they gave backward on the remaining rope as the sledge struck the edge of the ice shelf. They heard a heavy crash, then silence. Dick looked up from where he clung to the steep incline, the sledge rope clutched in his hands. Stunned by fear for what had happened to Sandy, who had disappeared, he watched Corporal McCarthy pick his way cautiously down to the sledge. The rear end of the runners had stuck in a fissure, bringing the sledge to a stop not more than a foot from the edge of the shelf below which they knew not how far the drop was. As if it were all a bad dream, Dick watched the policeman look over the sledge, under it, and all about, then lie down on his stomach and peer over the shelf. The significance of that move and what it might mean in regard to Sandy’s fate, brought Dick to his feet, and in two agile leaps he was at the policeman’s side. The drop under the shelf was only about twenty feet, provided an object falling from it caught on a second projection of ice and snow. Beyond that there was a frightful depth to a small plateau. “Sandy! Sandy!” Dick called at the top of his voice. Corporal McCarthy’s somber expression showed that he thought there was little use in shouting, but he presently uttered an exclamation of astonishment. The snow on the lower shelf directly below the point where the sledge had lodged, had moved! “Look!” cried Dick, in a glad shout. From the snow on the shelf protruded one arm, then another, and a moment later the snow plastered figure of Sandy rose up, hip deep in soft snow. “Hold on while I get a rope!” shouted the Corporal. “We’ll haul you back up,” seconded Dick. “Are you hurt much?” “I’m alright,” came Sandy’s shout, a bit faint, but welcomely spirited. “Got a few bruises is all.” Then Corporal McCarthy was back with a rope, and was paying it out over the shelf. Sandy quickly got hold of his end and fastened it about his waist. In a moment the combined strength of the two on the ledge had hauled Sandy to the safety of the shelf where the sledge had lodged. “Gee, I was never so glad to see anybody in my life!” exclaimed Dick, banging his chum on the back with a lusty hand. “Hey, watch out where you are hitting me,” complained Sandy. “That sledge made me sore all over when it shoved me down that bank. And, say, I thought I was gone when I rolled over that shelf.” “Lad, you’re one of the luckiest fellows that ever lived,” Corporal McCarthy put in, “but now let’s tie into this sledge again and not let those fellows ahead of us beat us to the top too far.” An hour more of back-bending toil and they joined Constable Sloan and the others, who already had reached the top of the glacier. While they all rested, Dick and Sandy looked curiously about them. Level ice, covered with snow, stretched for considerable distance on either hand. Long, zigzag cracks, or fissures, formed curious designs on the glacier’s summit; while now and again they could hear a deep rumble, like distant thunder, which, Constable Sloan said, was due to new cracks forming in the ice, and sometimes caused by a fragment of the glacier breaking off and falling into a fissure or into the sea far away across the island. Corporal McCarthy was not long in locating the trail made by Fred Mistak’s dog team. They had taken virtually the same path up the wall of the glacier that the fugitive had taken, and so were not far off the trail. Soon they were hurrying onward, carefully avoiding the deep, dangerous chasms in the ice whenever possible, and when necessary, bridging the narrow cracks with their sledges. “I’d hate to fall into one of those cracks,” Dick said in a low voice to Sandy. “Me, too,” Sandy agreed. “I wonder what’s at the bottom of them.” “I’ve heard there are rivers of running water under these glaciers,” replied Dick, “and that scientists have found the fossils of ancient animals in the huge caves which the water forms.” “Gee, just think! The land under this glacier must be just like it was a hundred years ago. Makes me feel creepy to think of those giant reptiles that used to wander around right under where we’re walking.” Dick was about to reply when Corporal McCarthy stopped the teams at the edge of an expanse of ice that had been swept clear of soft snow by water and wind. The boys quickly saw that Mistak’s trail vanished here, as if it had gone up in smoke. The ice was as hard as flint, and sledge, dogs, and men had passed over it without leaving a mark. “Toma, you stay with the dog team,” ordered Corporal McCarthy, “the rest of us will scatter out and circle this expanse of smooth ice. We can pick up Mistak’s trail where he strikes soft snow or brittle ice.” The plan was carried out but after an hour’s fruitless search the Corporal called them all back to the sledge. “It looks as if we’ve lost Mistak’s trail for the present. He must have made directly for this spot knowing he could throw off the scent.” “The hard ice ends up in a lot of fissures and ice caverns,” spoke up Constable Sloan. “It’s possible the Eskimo may be hiding out in one of the caves, waiting for us to go on.” “Well, if he is we’ll fix that. I’ll go on a little way with you and when we get in among the ice hummocks on the other side of this level stretch, I’ll drop out and watch for him to come out. The rest of you go on across the glacier, and make camp at some convenient spot. If I have any luck, I’ll overtake you and let you know.” After Corporal McCarthy had left them Dick and Sandy found themselves following the sledge along a ridge of snow covered stones and gravel which ran along the ice cap farther than they could see. Following this, they found the ice sloping steadily downward, while the ridge, or moraine, rose steadily higher. Presently they could see on the distant horizon the blackish blue of the open sea, broken by the massive crests of floating bergs. The sky had become overcast in the last hour and the temperature had fallen considerably. “We’re in for a bad storm,” Constable Sloan announced, his voice betraying some anxiety. “As soon as we get down to the seashore we’ll build some tight igloos. Tents won’t stand the wind that’s coming.” A little later they eased the sledge down a last steep incline and found easier going at the foot of the long ridge of glacial drift that had now grown to massive proportions. The glacier proper was now behind and on their left, beyond the ridge. They had crossed only a fragment of it in reaching what they believed to be the northern shore of a large island. “Look, Sandy, over there on that big floe to the northeast!” exclaimed Dick, pointing. Sandy’s eyes followed Dick’s directing finger and widened at what he saw. A large herd of seals dotted the ice and adjacent water. Now and again the animals dived into the water, throwing up a shower of spray. Faintly, as they drew nearer, they could hear the grunting barks of the adult seals. Sipsa seemed excited at the proximity of the seal herd, and began jabbering to himself. “What is he saying?” Dick asked Constable Sloan. “He means that here is good hunting, and that he ought to tell his people about it. The Eskimos depend altogether for their food upon hunting, and when there’s game and good weather they consider it the same as sacrilege to procrastinate. They can’t figure out why a white man wastes his time doing anything else.” The first signs of the coming storm interrupted Constable Sloan. A fine hard sleet came sifting down out of the leaden sky, cutting their faces like hundreds of tiny knives. Reaching a large drift that appeared ideal for making igloo blocks, Constable Sloan called a halt, and everyone set to work cutting snow blocks with the long knives brought along for that purpose. By the time they had completed two igloos, a wind had sprung up and the sleet had thickened. Though the huge glacial ridge shielded them from the full force of the wind, still it shipped and whirled with such force that they had to seek the shelter of their lately built snow houses. “I hope McCarthy doesn’t get caught out in this blizzard,” said Constable Sloan when they were squatted about a camp stove, crowded into one igloo for added warmth. “He ought to be coming in any time now.” They were in considerable suspense for several minutes, until, outside, above the howling of the wind, they heard Corporal McCarthy’s booming shout. Constable Sloan hurried out and helped into the igloo an almost unrecognizable figure. The Corporal was covered with clinging ice from head to foot and resembled some gigantic snow man. “Well, Mistak didn’t show himself if he really was in hiding on the glacier,” reported the Corporal. “The storm drove me in or I’d have waited longer. Tomorrow, if the storm lulls, we’ll look again. The trouble is all traces of his sledge will be covered up by this storm.” “We’d better establish a base of supplies here,” advised Constable Sloan. “The boys can do some hunting to help out on the meat problem, while we comb the island for Mistak.” Sandy’s face took on a disappointed expression at this announcement, and he looked at Dick as if he wanted him to do something. But Dick shook his head, and presently whispered mysteriously: “I have a hunch we’re not going to lose out on the man hunt.” Sandy had to be satisfied with that until he got Dick alone and pumped him for details. That night the boys slept the sleep of utter weariness, while the storm beat and buffeted futilely at the dome of their warm igloo. |
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