He clipped the soft wires off with his heavy knife, and bent them apart to avoid short circuits; then, closely followed by the others, went plowing away through the snow to search out the point where the wires left the ground. They traced them through the scrub timber, and, almost at once, came upon a strange frame-like structure, ending in a tall pole, and having at its center a house built of logs. The whole affair was quite invisible outside the timber.

"It's his wireless station," breathed the Major. "No further doubt remains."

He stepped to the door and found himself gazing into a well-arranged room—electric generator, storage batteries in rows and instruments of every description along the walls and the floor.

But what caught Bruce's eye was two rows of ten-gallon cans piled in the rear. With a cry of joy he sprang toward them. But his joyful look changed to an anxious one, as he lifted can after can and found it empty. Only one contained gasoline, and that was but half-full.

"Not enough to give our Thunder-bird a drink," he groaned disgustedly.

"Well, at any rate," said the Major, "we've found a place that won't make a bad shelter from Arctic blizzards. I suggest that we bring the plane up to the edge of the woods nearest this point and camp here."

"What's that?" exclaimed Bruce in a startled whisper, as he detected some noise outside.

He pushed the door open fearlessly, then laughed. There stood a dog.

"Not a bad find," said the Major. "He may be a lot of help to us. And, look! There are four others! They're the trader's dogs. Ran away when the place burned, I haven't a doubt. Barney, run and get some wolf meat. We'll have a team at once. And we'll need it. Can't move the plane without it."

They were soon on good terms with the strange dogs. The Major, who appeared to know all there was to know about Arctic life, fashioned some Eskimo style harness from wolfskin, and before many hours they had their plane by the edge of the woods, and were settled in their new home.

That night, after they had enjoyed reindeer steak as a special treat, the Major rather playfully put the receiving piece of the wireless over his head and clicked the machine. Almost instantly, he exclaimed:

"Jove! I'm getting something! Give me a note-book and pencil."

For fifteen minutes he scratched strange dots and dashes across innumerable pages. At last he paused and removed the receiver.

"Guess that's about all for this time. Let's see what we've got."

Three heads bent over the message. But, after hours of study, the only conclusion they could come to was that the message had been sent in a secret code, which they might never be able to decipher.

"Well," said the Major, with a sigh. "Station's closed for to-night. Tell the gentleman to call again in the morning." At that he crept into his sleeping-bag and was soon snoring. The two boys gladly followed his example.

Barney made the first announcement in the morning. He was going caribou hunting. He had had quite enough "dog meat." Bruce offered to go with him, but, on second thought, decided to try fishing through the ice. Barney was soon lost in the wilderness of scrub spruce. But, though he hunted far, he found no fresh caribou tracks. It was on his return trip that he received the first surprise of the day. The wind was blowing fine snow along the surface and he found his out-going trail half-buried. Then, suddenly, he came upon strange footprints. The person apparently had been going North, but upon seeing the white boy's track he had turned and retreated. The tracks were fresh and had been made by a heelless skin-shoe.

"Indian!" Barney gasped.

Even as he spoke he caught the gleam of a camp-fire through the trees; then another and another. Without a moment's delay Barney started for the camp two miles away.

He had reached the open space where the trading station had stood, had nearly crossed it, when out of the edge of the ruins there rose the form of a man, not an Indian but a white man. Barney's first thought was that it was Bruce or the Major. His second look brought action. He dropped flat behind some fire-blackened debris. The man wore a tomato-colored mackinaw, such as was not to be found in their outfit. Whoever he was, his back was turned and he had not seen the boy.

Creeping a little forward, Barney peered around the pile. What he saw set the cold chills chasing up his back. The man had torn two of the lead-wires from the frosted earth. Slowly he placed their points together. In that instant the boy understood. He knew now the reason for the three wires leading to the power-house. Two were for carrying light to the building. If the third one was connected with the right one of the lighting-wires, an infernal-machine would be set going, and the power-house, with all in it, would be blown to atoms. And, at this moment, Bruce and the Major were there. The man, whoever he was, had, since the wires were broken, found it necessary to test the pairs out. His first trial had been wrong. He was bending over for a second try when something struck him, bowling him over like a ten-pin. It was Barney.

The man was heavier than Barney, and evidently older. He was fit, too. One thing Barney had noticed—the gleam of an automatic in the man's hip-pocket. In his sudden attack he had managed to drag this out and drop it upon the snow.

The struggle which followed was furious. Holds were lost and won. Blood flecked the snow, arms were wrenched and faces bruised. Slowly, steadily, Barney felt his strength leaving him.

At last, with a gliding grip, the man's hand reached his throat. It was all over now. Barney's senses reeled as the grip tightened. His lungs burned, his head seemed bursting. He was about to lose consciousness, when through his mind there flashed pictures of Bruce and the Major. He must! He must! With one last heroic effort, he threw the man half from him. Then, faintly, far distant, there seemed to echo a shot, a single shot; then all sensation left him.

When the boy felt himself coming back to consciousness, he hardly knew whether he was still in the land of the living. He dared not move or open his eyes. Where was he? What of the stranger? The Major and Bruce; had they been blown into eternity? Again and again these problems whirled through his dizzy mind.

Then all at once, he heard a voice.

"I think he's coming 'round," someone, very far off, was saying.

It was the gruff voice of the Major. Barney opened his eyes to find his companions bending over him.

"What happened?" he asked weakly, his eyes searching their faces.

"That's what we'd like to know," answered Bruce; "we heard a shot, and hurrying out here found you unconscious beside a dead man."

"Dead?" Barney sat up dizzily.

"Sure is. Did you shoot him?"

"Shoot—I shoot—" The boy tried to steady his whirling brain. "No, I didn't shoot him."

Gradually the world ceased whirling about him and he was able to think clearly. Then, together, they pieced out the story. Barney told what had happened, and you may be very sure it was a sober pair that listened.

"Well, my boy," said the Major solemnly, "we owe our lives to you; there's no doubt about that. As for him," he added, pointing to the dead man, "he must have rolled upon the automatic when you made your last effort, and accidentally discharged it. He has a bullet-hole in the back of his head where a pin-prick would have killed him. A case of pure Providence, I'd call it."

"Let's get out of here," said Barney, showing signs of weakness. "I've had quite enough of it."

With an arm on either of his comrades' shoulders, he made his way back to the station, where a bowl of hot reindeer broth completely revived him.

"The next thing," said Bruce, "is to hunt out that infernal contraption which threatens our lives."

It was a delicate and dangerous undertaking, but little by little, they traced out the wires and disconnected them. At last they found it in a small box which had been skillfully fitted into a beam.

"Innocent looking little thing," said Bruce, holding it up for inspection. "To-morrow I am going to take it out to the lake, hook it up with a couple of batteries and see if it's got any kick."

After a hearty meal, the three resumed their previous evening's occupation, attempting to decipher the strangely coded message.

"Here's a theory to try out," said Bruce. "A message is usually composed of nearly an equal number of words of one to three letters and of those having more than three. These are likely to be used alternately. If then, you find two or three words of four or more letters, it's likely to be a name. The man, whoever he is, has signed only a code name, but there may be more names in the body of the message. Look it over."

"Yes, here are two words together of five letters each," exclaimed Barney.

"Think of names you know that are spelled with five letters," said Bruce excitedly.

Instantly there came into Barney's mind the name of his former pal.

"There's Dave Tower," he said. "He'd sign it David, of course."

"Just fits," exclaimed Bruce, more excited than ever. "And by all that's Canadian, the first and last letters of the first name are the same, just as they are here. I believe we're on the right track."

"But what would his pal have to do with it?" asked the astonished Major.

"He went North about the time we started." Barney danced over the floor in his excitement.

While the boys were too excited to do further deciphering, the Major's cooler brain was busy. Soon he rose and began pacing rapidly back and forth across the room. His face wore anything but a pleased expression, and his limp was greatly increased by his irritation.

"Did you get it?" asked Barney.

"I should say I did!" exclaimed the Major. "Right in the neck! And to think," he sputtered, "here we are without gasoline to carry us a hundred miles, and he starting with everything in his favor. If we just had gas for three hundred miles. There's plenty on the schooner, Gussie Brown. I called Nome yesterday and found that out. But they can't bring it to us, and we can't go to them. We're stuck; stuck right here! And he's starting to-morrow!"

The boys stared in speechless amazement, as the Major, dropping into a chair, covered his face with his hands.

It was many minutes before he was calm enough to tell them the simple truth of the matter, which was, of course, that the wireless message was that one sent by the Doctor on the Aleutian Islands, telling of his intended journey Northward; also that this same doctor was a hated rival explorer, whom he had beaten a few years before; that he had not intended going North at this time, but this action of his rival made it imperative that he do so now. Finally, that the trading gasoline schooner, Gussie Brown, was frozen in the ice three hundred miles north of Conjurer's Bay and Great Bear Lake, and had an ample supply of gasoline.

"But after all, I guess we're beaten," said the Major wearily. "If we succeed in getting out of this scrape alive we'll be fortunate."

"Cheer up! The worst is yet to come," smiled Barney. "Let's turn in."

Two interesting problems awaited the party in the morning. Was the man who had been accidentally shot the night before the anarchist trader? If so, who was the person whose bones lay in the ruins? Was the infernal-machine a genuine affair, and if so, would it explode? While the Major was still brooding over his disappointment, the boys were so eager for these investigations that they quite forgot the affair of the wireless message.

The identity of the dead man was soon established by papers found in his pockets. He was the trader. The skull found in the ruins was unmistakably that of an Indian. A break in this skull showed that the person had died a violent death and had not been caught by the fire. The conclusion the boys arrived at was that the trader had killed the Indian and had fled to the woods. The Indians in revenge had burned his trading station. That he had intended to destroy the explorers was beyond question. He had, therefore, met a well-deserved fate. His body was buried, Eskimo-style, on top of the ground, with stones piled over it to protect it from wolves.

When this work had been completed, the two boys took the infernal-machine down to the frozen surface of the lake where there could be no danger from an explosion, and connected it with wires which they laid along the surface from the steep, snow-buried shore.

"Must be twenty feet of snow in there!" exclaimed Bruce, as for the third time he lost his footing and slid to the bottom of the slope.

Presently they were well behind the ridge in the forest, and out of range of any flying splinters of machine or ice.

"I feel as I used to when I was a schoolboy, and hid with the rest of the gang out in the woods and shot off charges of gunpowder in a gas-pipe bomb," grinned Barney, as he screwed one wire to a post of a battery.

"Now we'll—" he exclaimed breathlessly.

His last word was lost in the roar of a tremendous explosion. The shores of the bay took up the sound and sent it echoing and reechoing through the forest. Fine bits of ice came rattling down through the trees, while a great cloud of smoke and mist floated lazily over their heads.

"Whew! Some explosion!" murmured Barney.

Bruce was silent. His face was white.

"What's up?" asked Barney.

"Nothing. I'm all right," Bruce smiled grimly. "I was only thinking what might have happened yesterday."

"Forget it," grumbled Barney. "C'mon, let's see the ruins."

"Fish!" exclaimed Bruce, as they emerged from the forest. And assuredly there were fish in abundance. The thirty-foot wide pool, from which the ice had been blown, was white with them. There were salmon, salmon-trout, white-fish, lake-trout, flounders, and others the boys did not know. Hundreds and hundreds of them, stunned by the explosion, floated on the surface only waiting to be harvested.

"We'll have to work carefully," said Barney, starting forward. "The ice is pretty well shattered. A plunge in that water, and the temperature at thirty below, wouldn't be pleasant, but I believe we can save every one of them. Get a pole." He began cutting a large branch from a spruce tree. Bruce followed his example.

"Now!" Barney exclaimed, preparing to slide down the bank. But he paused in surprise. The snow-bank, shattered by the blast, had gone tumbling down to the surface of the lake. And what was that protruding above what remained of the snow? It was dark and V-shaped, like the gable of a roof.

Barney was for investigating at once, but Bruce was more practical; the fish must be secured immediately. This food might yet stand between them and starvation.

They were soon whipping the pool with their poles, and, as the fish came to the ice edge, they gathered them in. Some were monsters, two or three feet in length. It was, indeed, a great haul. They piled them on the ice like cord-wood. Already they were freezing; they would remain fresh for months.



CHAPTER VI

THE RACE IS ON

"And now for the lakeside secret," exclaimed Barney, tossing the last fish upon the pile, and throwing his frosty pole aside.

Eagerly Bruce sprang to his feet. Together they raced around the pool. Clambering over the tumbled avalanches of snow, they were soon within sight of the strange triangle. Barney's heart beat fast. What was it? Could it be only a bit of bent timber lodged there on the log-roof of a long-abandoned Indian shack? Or was it—was it what he knew Bruce hoped it might be—a supply-house for gasoline, or perhaps a motor-boat with a supply of gasoline on board?

Excitedly they attacked the piles of snow. Lacking shovels, they worked with hands and feet. Hope grew with every kick and scoop. This was no mere bit of timber, nor yet an abandoned shack; it was too recently built to leave a doubt about that. And now they had reached the top of the door.

"I say we've found it," panted Bruce, redoubling his efforts.

"Wait. Don't hope too much," gasped Barney, tossing aside snow like a dog burrowing for a rabbit.

The door had a spring padlock on it. Barney, hurrying to the lake for some pieces of ice, cracked the lock as he would a nut between stones. Then, prying the door open a bit at the top, he tried to peer in.

"Dark," he muttered. "Can't see a thing."

Breathlessly they resumed work.

And now the door was free to the very bottom. It was Bruce's turn. Forcing the door open a foot, he took one good look, then let out a whoop.

"Gasoline!" he shouted. "Bedons of it!"

"May be empty," suggested Barney.

"I'll see," said Bruce. An instant more, and having crowded himself through the narrow space, he struck a hundred-gallon steel bedon with his fist. No hollow sound came from it.

"Full," he exclaimed, and, the strain over, sank to the floor with a sigh of relief.

The more hardy Barney began to explore the place. To the back was a small gasoline launch, apparently in perfect condition. Ranged along the right wall were the bedons, five of them, all full but one, and each containing a hundred gallons.

"Well," said Barney, sitting on a bedon, and kicking his heels against its steel side, "now we can take the Major to the moon, or any other did place he wishes to go; that is, if we want to."

For a long time Bruce was silent. Now that the excitement was over he realized he was homesick. Then, too, the dangers of yesterday had shaken his nerves. He was thinking, also, of La Vaune working her way through the academy when money, much money, belonging to her lay idle; and of Timmie, who awaited their return to assist him in the retrieving of his good name. But there came the after-thought: had it not been for the Major's trust in him and in Barney, none of these things would have been possible. Yes, they owed a debt to the Major and that debt must be paid.

"And I guess we want to take him where he wants to go," said he, straightening up as he looked his friend in the eye.

"Good!" exclaimed Barney. "I was going to leave it to you, but I knew you'd do it. It's the chance of our lives. I'm sure he means the Pole—the North Pole! Think of it! And, then, there's the reward!"

"Guess we'd better squeeze out of here and go break the glad news," said Bruce, "He's up there fairly eating his heart out."

"The race is on," muttered Barney, as they hurried up the bank.

"The race is on," echoed the Major, a few minutes later, as he walked the floor in high glee.

"Yes, sir, it is," said Barney, "and a good clean race it will be if Dave Tower is skipper of that submarine. I never knew a squarer fellow."

The Major, limbering up his wireless instruments, sent a message snap-snapping across the frozen expanse.

"What you doing?" asked Barney.

"Just letting that foxy old rival of mine know I got his message and that I'm on the job," chuckled the Major. "I'll get off other messages every three hours for a time."

"Would you mind mentioning my name in the message?" asked Barney. "You see, I've got a date for a little jazz with Dave up at the Pole, and I'd like him to know I'm planning to keep the appointment."

The Major chuckled again, and included this in his message:

"Barney Menter, pilot."

The party at the Aleutian station caught the Major's second sending of the message. The Doctor's face grew gray, as he realized its meaning.

"Great Providence!" he exclaimed. "Will he beat me again?" Then striking the table with his fist. "He will not! We're crippled by the loss of an important member of our party. He has the swiftest conveyance, but it is not the surest. We will win! We start to-morrow. The race is on!"

As for Dave, he was more than glad at the prospect of meeting Barney at the Pole. He was confident that both expeditions would succeed. The only question in his optimistic young mind was, which would arrive first? If his trying could decide it, the sub would get there first. He and Barney had been chums since boyhood, but they had been keen competitors in all their play, study and work. Now their wits were once more fairly matched.

"It's the army and the navy!" he exclaimed. "A fair, square race. And may the best one win."

"I might say," remarked the Doctor, "that there is a bountiful prize offered to the first person who next reaches the Pole, and who brings back three witnesses who can make readings of latitude and longitude to testify to the facts. Should we win, the prize will go to you and the crew."

"I'll go tell them," said Dave, donning his cap. A moment later the Doctor heard cheers which sounded like:

"Rah! Rah! Rah for Doctor! Rah! Rah! Rah for the North Pole!"

The race was on!

Her secret service days over for the present, the "sub" had been given a coat of black paint. Now, as she scudded through the dark waters of Behring Sea, Dave, standing in the conning-tower, thought how much she must resemble a whale. During the war many a leviathan of the deep had met death because he resembled a submarine. Now, in peace times, in this feeding ground of the greatest of all prey, the tables might be turned, the submarine taken for whale.

The race was on. Across Behring Sea they sped through foam-flecked waves and driving mists. Pausing only a day at Nome, they pushed on past Port Clarence, rounded Cape Prince of Wales, and entered boldly into the great unknown, the Arctic Ocean. A million wild fowl, returning to the Southland, shot away over their heads. Here and there they saw little brown seals bob out of the water to stare at them. Once they ran a race with a great white bear, and again they sighted a school of whales. They gave these a wide berth, for should they grow friendly and mix their great flippers with the sub's propeller, trouble would follow. Walrus, too, were avoided, for they had a playful habit of bumping the under-surface of any craft they might chance to meet.

At last, far to the North there appeared a glaring white line. They had reached the ice. Their days of merry sailing on the surface were well-nigh over. From this time on life would be spent in stuffy, steel-lined, electric-lighted compartments. But for all that, it would not be so bad. Openings in the floes would offer them opportunities to rise for a breath of fresh air, and dangers seemed few enough, since the ocean everywhere was deep, and ice-bergs, sinking dangerously to a great depth below the surface, were few. Only the piles of ice and great six-foot-thick pans would make a white roof to the ocean, which was not without its advantage, for here the water would always be delightfully calm.

Shutting off the engines, dropping the funnel, closing the hatch, they sank quickly beneath the water's surface, and were soon passing below a marvelous panorama of lights and shadow. Through the thick glass of the observation windows there flooded tints varying from pale-blue to ultramarine and deep purple. No sunset could vie with the color schemes that kaleidoscoped above them. Here a great pile of ancient ice gave the whole a reddish tinge; and here a broad pan of transparent new ice cast down the deep-blue of the sky; and again a thicker floe admitted a light as mellow as expert decorators could have devised.

"It's wonderful!" murmured the Doctor.



CHAPTER VII

A STRANGE PEOPLE

Ten hours after the start of the submarine, Dave Tower's eye anxiously watched the dial which indicated a rapidly lessening supply of oxygen, while his keenly appraising mind measured time in terms of oxygen supply. They were still scudding along beneath that continuous kaleidoscopic panorama of green and blue lights and shadows, but no one noticed the beauty of it now. All eyes were strained on the plate-glass windows above, and they looked but for one thing—a spot, black as night itself, which would mean open water above.

"There it is to starboard!" exclaimed the Doctor. Careful backing and steering to starboard brought merely the disclosure that the Doctor's eye-strain had developed to the point where it produced optical illusions.

The oxygen was all this time dwindling. To avoid further waste of time, Dave told his first mate to close his eyes for three minutes while he kept watch, then to open them and "spell" him at the watch.

"Straight ahead! Quick!" muttered the mate, as the dial hung fluttering at zero.

Seizing a lever here and there, watching this gauge, then that one, Dave sent the craft slanting upward. Like some dark sea monster seeking air, the "sub" shot toward the opening.

And now—now the prow tilted through space. Another lever and another, and she balanced for a second on the surface. For a second only, then came a crash. Too much eagerness, too great haste, had sent the conning-tower against the solid six-foot floe.

With lips straight and white Dave grasped two levers at once. The craft shot backward. There followed a sickening grind which could only tell of interference with the propeller. Too quick a reverse had sent it against the ice astern. Shutting off all power, Dave allowed her to rise silently to the surface. Then, as silently, one member of the crew opened the hatch and they all filed out.

"Propeller's still there," breathed one of the gobs in relief.

"'Fraid that won't help," said Dave.

"Jarvis," he said, turning to the engineer, "go below and start her up at lowest speed."

In a moment there followed a jangling grind.

The engineer reappeared.

"As I feared, sir," he reported. "It's the shaft, sir. She'll have to go to shore for repairs. Only a hot fire and heavy hammering can fix her. Can't be done on board or on the ice."

"Ashore!" Dave rubbed his forehead, pulled his forelock, and tried to imagine which way land might be after ten hours of travel in the uncharted waters of the great Arctic sea.

"I'll leave it to you, Jarvis," he smiled. "If you can locate land, and show us how to get there across these piles of ice with a disabled submarine, you shall have a medal from the National Geographic Society."

The engineer was not a gob, strictly speaking. He was an old English seaman, who had often sailed the Arctic in a whaler. Now he went below with the words:

"I'll find the nearest land, right enough, me lad; but as to gittin' there, that's quite another matter."

Thereafter the engineer might be seen from time to time dashing up the hatchway to take an observation, then back to the chart-table, where he examined first this chart, then that one. Some of the charts were new, just from the hands of the hydrographic bureau. These belonged to the craft. Others were soiled and torn; patched here and there, or reinforced by cloth from a discarded shirt. These belonged to Jarvis, himself; had been with him on many a journey and were now most often consulted.

"Near's h'I can make it, sir," he said, at last, "we're some two hundred miles from Point Hope on the Alaska shores and a bit farther from a point on the Russian shore, which the natives call On-na-tak, though what the place is like h'I can't say, never 'aving been there. Far's h'I know, no white man's been there, h'either; leastwise, not in our generation."

He studied the charts and made one further observation:

"Far's h'I can tell, sir," he smiled, "On-na-tak's h'our only chance. Current sets that way h'at three knots an hour. That means we'll drift there in four or five days. There'll be driftwood on the beach, and, with good luck, we can fix 'er up there. Mayhap there's coal in the banks by the sea, and that's greater luck for us if there is."

The Doctor, who had sat all this time in silence, smoking his black cigars, now rose and began pacing the deck.

"Four or five days? Four or five, did you say? Great Creation! That will mean the losing of the race!"

Jarvis nodded his head.

"H'anything less would mean that and more," said the old engineer. "Going down with such a shaft would mean death to all of us."

The Doctor sighed. "We can't help it, I suppose—but it's a cruel blow."

"There's many a break in a long airplane voyage anywhere," he consoled himself, "and I think the chances for accidents in the Arctic are about trebled. I don't wish our rivals any fatal catastrophe, but a little tough luck—say a wing demolished; or an engine burned out—might not be so much to my displeasure."

The days that followed were spent in various ways. Hunting seals and polar bears was something of an out-the-way pleasure for seafaring men. Then there were checkers and cards, besides the daily guess as to their position at noon.

Strangely enough, for once in the history of Arctic currents, they found themselves being carried where they wanted to go, in a direct line for Point On-na-tak, and during the entire four days and a half there was hardly a point's deviation from the course. On the evening of the fourth day, Dave thought he sighted land, and the midnight watch reported definitely that there was land to the port bow; two points, one more easily discerned than the other. This news brought the whole crew on deck. And for two hours there was wild speculation as to the nature of the country ahead of them; the possibility of inhabitants and their treatment of strangers. Azazruk, the Eskimo, thought that he had heard from an old man of his tribe that the point was inhabited by a people who spoke a different language from that spoken by the Chukches of East Cape and Whaling, on the Russian side of Behring Strait. But of this he could not be sure. If the old engineer knew anything of these shores other than the facts he had already stated concerning wood and coal, he did not venture to say. And no one asked.

So they drifted on until the bleak, snow-capped peaks showed plainly. Morning revealed a bay lying between the two points. Toward the entrance to this bay they were drifting. One obstacle remained between them and land. A half mile of the floe in which they were drifting lay between them and the black stretch of open water which extended to the edge of the solid shore ice, upon which the submarine might be dragged and over which the shaft might be carried to land. But how was that stretch of tumbled icefloe to be crossed? This, indeed, was a problem.

It was finally decided that Dave and the old engineer should spend the forenoon exploring the ice to landward for a possible narrow channel that would open a way to the water beyond. For this journey they took only field-glasses, alpine staffs and a lunch in a sealskin sack. Had they known better the nature of the land they were about to visit, they might have gone more fully equipped.

"H'I don't mind tell' y', lad, that we was 'eaded for this point way back some'ers in the late nineties," said the engineer, "but there come a Nor'wester, an' the cap'in, 'e lost 'is 'ead and turned to run. We'd froze in for the winter, but we'd a seen things if we 'ad. We'd a seen 'um."

They were struggling over some pressure ridges and neither had breath to spare for further talk just then. But presently, as they paused on a high ridge of ice for a survey of their surroundings, Jarvis said:

"H'I said back there they might be coal in the banks. There is, an' other minerals there are 'ere, too. H'it's a rich land, an' now we're 'ere we'd make our fortunes if that daffy doctor wasn't 'eaded straight fer the Pole, an' nobody 'ere to stop 'im."

"What do you make of it?" Dave, who had been studying the shore with the glass, handed it to Jarvis: "Do you see something like a village?"

"Sure I do!" exclaimed the other excitedly. "Sure, there's a village, a 'ole 'eap of bloomin' 'eathen live up 'ere, h'only they hain't dull and stupid like them down below."

"It's a strange-looking village."

"Sure, it is. Made all of reindeer skins and walrus pelts. Sure it's different. Them natives up 'ere 'ave got reindeer, 'erds and 'erds of 'em."

"I suppose they've got walrus ivory, too," said Dave, warming to the subject.

"Ho, yes, walrus h'ivory a-plenty, them 'eathen 'ave got. But walrus h'ivory hain't so much. Too 'eavy to make a good cargo, an' not 'alf so good as h'elephant h'ivory. But there's minerals, 'eaps of minerals, an' we'd all be rich men an' it wasn't for the bloomin' doctor."

No channel to the shore having appeared, they were now making their way along the edge of the open water. Suddenly the old engineer started:

"Did you see 'im?" he whispered.

"What? Where?" Dave stared at the old man, thinking he had suddenly lost his head.

"H'it was a man. 'E popped 'is 'ead out, then beat it. One o' them bloomin' 'eathens."

"Probably we'd better turn back."

"Huh!" sniffed the old man. "'Oo cares for the bloomin' 'eathen? 'Armless they is, 'armless as babies."

They continued their travel, but the old man seemed distinctly uneasy. He saw heads here and there. And soon, Dave, who did not have the trained eye of the seaman, saw one also. At once he decided that they must turn back to the submarine.

Hardly had they taken this course, when heads seemed to be peering out at them from every ice-pile. It was when they were crossing a broad, flat pan that matters came to a crisis. Suddenly brown, fur-clad figures emerged from the piles at the edge of the pan and approached them. Their soft, rawhide boots made no sound on the ice. Their lips were ominously silent. There was a sinister gleam to the spears which they bore.

Half-way to the men, at a sign from the leader, they all paused. Then a little knot gathered about the leader. Three men did the greater part of the talking. They appeared to be urging the leader to action.

Dave, who knew that the old seaman was acquainted with several native dialects, said:

"What do you make of it?"

"Can't get 'em straight," said Jarvis. "But them three 'eathen that's talkin' loudest, them's 'eathen from another tribe 'er somethin'. They're not the right color. Their eyes hain't right an' they don't speak the language right. I think they got it in their 'eads that we h'ought ter be pinched fer trespassin' 'er somethin' the like. But we'll fight the bloomin' 'eathen, we will, h'if they start a bloomin' rumpus."

"What with?" smiled Dave.

The old seaman looked nonplused for a moment.

"Ho, well," he grinned, then. "Can't be any 'arm in goin' with the bloomin' idgits a piece, h'if they request it."

The horde of natives did, at last, request it in a rather forceful and threatening way. The three men, whom Jarvis had singled out as "'eathen from another tribe," became so insulting that Dave could scarcely restrain Jarvis from braining their leader on the spot.

They were led to the edge of the ice-floe where, hidden in a remote corner, was an oomiak, a native boat of skins.

From here they were quickly paddled over to the shore. They were then led up a steep bank, down a street lined with innumerable dome-like houses covered with walrus-skin, and were finally dragged into the largest of these houses and rudely thrust into an inner room. The door slammed, and Jarvis laughed.

"Humph!" he chuckled. "Fancy putting a man in a bloomin' jail made of deer skin. Much 'ead as the bloomin' 'eathen 'ave. Let's 'ave a look at 'er."

He scratched a match and the look of astonishment that Dave found on his face, as he stared about the inclosure, caused him to laugh, in spite of their dilemma.

"H'ivory, walrus h'ivory! Walls, floor and ceilin' all h'ivory. Who'd ever thought of that!" muttered the old seaman. "Wood'll burn and iron'll rust; but h'ivory! h'ivory! Who'd ever thought of that for a prison?"



CHAPTER VIII

THE WALRUS HUNT

Meanwhile, on the ice-locked shores of Great Bear Lake, preparations for departure were being made by the airplane party. The gasoline must all be strained through a chamois-skin to insure them against water in the engines, and this, with the temperature at thirty to forty below, was no mean task. There was a careful selection of foodstuffs to be taken along. It was decided also that the five dogs should go, for they would provide transportation, in case of accident, and could be killed and eaten as a last resort. The entire equipment was given a thorough overhauling. All this took three days of arduous toil.

When, at last, all was in readiness, and the earth began to drop away beneath them, the dogs put their noses in the air and chorused a canine Arctic dirge. But their howls were lost in the noise of the engines.

As for the boys, their cheeks burned. Truly, this was to be their greatest adventure—"An adventure quite worthy the heart of a true soldier," as the Major had expressed it. Many problems they left behind unsolved, but these were quite crowded out of their minds by the one supreme problem: Would they reach the Pole, and would they reach it first?

Somewhere on the shores of Melville Bay, near the banks of Melville Island, frozen in the ice for the winter, was the little gasoline schooner which had engaged to furnish them fuel for the last lap of the journey north and the return. The gas would cost a pretty penny, to be sure, for it would compel the trader to return to Nome earlier than he had intended doing, but money seemed no object to the zealous explorer.

Setting their course a little east of north, they shot directly away. Bruce, who was driving, settled back easily in his place. The machine was soaring beautifully. The engines worked in perfect time. Everything promised a safe and speedy trip. Now and again a belated flock of snow-geese, as if drawn by an invisible thread, shot by them; and now, far below, they caught sight of moving brown specks, which told of caribou still passing southward from the summer pasture in the unexplored lands far to the North. The fleeting panorama was of constantly changing interest and beauty.

Soon they left the land behind. They were passing over Prince Albert Sound. Its surface was already white with ice. Land again, then Melville Sound—last lap on this three hundred mile journey. Bruce found himself unable to believe they were over a great body of salt water. Surely these squares, rising from the surface, white and glistening in the moonlight, were village roofs covered with snow. Surely, these other squares lying flat upon the surface were town lots, and the broader ones stretches of field and meadow, where grain would ripen in summer and flowers bloom. And the spots of open water, made black by the whiteness about them, were fishing-ponds where one might lazily dip his line and dream.

But as he shook himself back into reality, a startling question had come to him. His lips put it in words.

"How are we going to tell that schooner when we see it?" he barked through the Major's telephone. "Won't she be buried in snow?"

"Probably will," admitted the Major, "but there's sure to be a native village near by, and though their houses are built of snow, they always have a litter of black things about—sleds, hunting implements, skins, and the like. We can't miss it."

"Natives. M-m-m," Bruce mumbled. "Nagyuktogmiut, or something like that. Hope the white man happens to be about when we land. I've read Stefansson's account of them. They treated him all right, but when old Thunderbird, his own self, brings them some white men, they may not be so glad to see them, and those chaps have copper-pointed spears and arrows, not to speak of rifles."

"The Indians didn't bother us," phoned back the Major.

"That's right. Well, I hope this is our lucky day." Bruce again gave his whole attention to driving. Then, as they made out in the distance some high elevations, that might be land or might be clouds, he dropped to a lower level and scanned the surface of the ice for a black spot which would tell of human habitations. The village, he knew, might be fifty miles from land, for these Eskimos lived on the ocean's roof during the entire winter and hunted seal and great-seal, moving only now and again when game became scarce.

"There they are, over to the right," he exclaimed presently. He set his machine in the general direction indicated. Soon a black patch began to appear among the lights and shadows. Surely here was the village they sought. The realization set his heart thumping violently.

"Drop in close and look for a landing."

The Major twisted in his seat and scanned the ice narrowly as he spoke. "Just beyond them seems to be a broad flat pan. Looks safe. Try it"

Bruce cut off his engines and began circling down. It was the dead of night. Apparently every person about the village was asleep. Now he could distinguish sleds and skins hung on ice-piles to dry. Now he located the double rows of dome houses. They were going to pass right over these, but high enough to miss them.

Then, rapidly, things happened. A vagrant current of wind seized them and they "bumped" in air. The next instant it was evident that a crash was inevitable. They were swooping straight down upon a row of snow-domes. But the machine was heavy, the snow-houses, mere shells, without the sign of a shock, yielding to the compact, went spinning away in little bits, revealing scores of sleepers snug beneath their deerskins. They had awakened Bedlam. Men shouted, women and children screamed, dogs barked.

"Like knocking over a bee-hive," chuckled Barney.

Bruce, with a remarkably cool head, brought his machine to the smooth surface beyond. In a moment she was slowing up to a perfect landing. "Quick! The machine-gun!" exclaimed Barney.

Bruce gave one startled look behind them, then began working feverishly. Already Barney and the Major were unstrapping themselves.

Across the ice in the vague moonlight a motley throng, a hundred strong, was charging down upon them. Half-naked, their brown arms gleaming, they seemed the inhabitants of some South Sea isle rather than Eskimos of the Farthest North. Copper-pointed spears gleamed yellow and gold, while here and there the dark barrel of a hunting rifle was to be seen.

"Go slow," warned the Major. "Remember it's men, women and children instead of wolves this time. They're wild, but they're human. Send a volley into the ice-piles at the left. Show 'em what you've got and they'll stop—perhaps."

As Bruce turned the barrel of his deadly weapon, he caught the low rumble of many voices. The natives were chanting a witching song to destroy the power of evil spirits.

"Tat-tat-tat-tat." The machine-gun spoke. Bits of ice flew wildly. The mob halted for a moment, then plunged on, still chanting that maddening song.

Just at the moment when a massacre seemed inevitable, there came a roar from the right. Turning, Bruce saw the form of a bearded man apparently rising from a hole in a giant ice-cake. At the sound the wild mob halted.

"Hey! You fellows!" the stranger bellowed. "What's the matter with you?" Then he turned to the natives and began to harangue them in a tongue quite unknown even to the Major.

The instant Bruce saw the red-whiskered giant rise, seemingly from the ocean, his hand relaxed on the machine-gun and he stood in ready expectation. The Eskimos appeared to understand the words which the stranger flung at them, for, though they continued their weird incantation, they lowered their weapons and did not attempt to approach nearer the white men.

Presently their weapons began clattering to the ice. Taking this as a sign of friendliness, the explorers stepped out to meet them. Seeing this, the natives gathered into a compact group, their song rising to a wild humming howl, but they made no move to attack. When the strangers were quite close, one native, braver than his companions, stepped forward. Still chanting, he handed each explorer a small cube of whale blubber. One cube remained in his own hand. This he proceeded to swallow, indicating at the same time that the strangers were to follow his example.

The moment the cubes disappeared the wild chorus ceased and the natives crowded forward to extend a hearty welcome.

It was, however, a very long time before one of them was persuaded to come near the airplane.

"I haven't a doubt," said the Major, "that they still believe that we rode here on the back of old Thunder-bird himself. And why not? If we can build schooners many times as large as their largest skin-boats and run them by noise alone, if we can kill at a distance by a magic of great noises, why couldn't we tame the Thunder-bird himself and make him carry us? It is my firm conviction that if one of us were to return here in a year or two, he would hear the most outlandish tales of the Kabluna who rode the Thunder-bird."

The natives had returned to their camp to dress and to repair the damage done by the airplane. The white men were approaching what appeared to be the den of the bearded stranger, when the Major gave a cry of joy:

"Masts! Boys, we have finished the first lap of our journey. The den of the stranger is the cabin to his schooner. He is the trader who is to furnish us gasoline!"

The Major's surmise proved to be correct, and they were soon sitting happily around a rough galley table, sipping at steaming "mulligan"—a rich Arctic stew—and coffee.

"And now," said the Major, "for a few hours of sleep. After that your time is your own for twelve hours."

"Twelve hours!" exclaimed Bruce in surprise. "Don't we start for the Pole at once?"

"Young gentlemen," said the Major smiling, "your enthusiasm is gratifying in the extreme. But flying, especially in high latitudes, is very trying on the nerves—even such nerves as yours. Remember that in the Arctic, where anything at all is liable to happen at a moment's notice, we must always be at our best. So get some relaxation. What will you do with your twelve hours?"

"I heard a walrus barking a half-hour ago!" exclaimed Barney eagerly.

"I'm for a walrus hunt," agreed Bruce.

"Good! That will stretch your legs a bit," said the Major. "But don't go too far, nor take too many chances. Remember you have a mission to accomplish here in the North."

The three adventurers were soon sleeping soundly in the bunks of the Gussie Brown, and far away, bobbing his head through a water-hole and shaking the icicles from his moustache, a great bull-walrus barked at the moon.

When they awoke from dreamless slumber, the boys' first thought was of the promised walrus hunt. They scrambled into their fur garments, and hurrying to the surface of the floe, listened for the hoarse call of their quarry, the walrus. They did not have to wait long.

"There he barks!" exclaimed Bruce, putting his hand to his ear.

"And again," Barney hurried below to secure a native harpoon and skin-rope. Bruce provided himself with a high-power magazine rifle.

"We're off!" Barney shouted joyously to the Major, as he gulped down a cup of steaming coffee and took a last bite of sour-dough bread.

"Good luck! And may you come back!" bantered the Major. Had he known how real was his jesting prophecy of danger, he would not have joked.

As a rule, walrus-hunting in the Arctic is not a sport, it is a task—the day's work of providing food for a village. It is as exciting as the "hog-killing day" of a middle-west farmer. The hog may run amuck of the farmer, and so may the walrus of the hunter; the chances are about equal. The walrus seldom shows fight. Before he is harpooned, he either is quite indifferent to the presence of the hunter, or slips away to the water at sight of him. If harpooned, he makes every effort to escape, and only in rare instances shows fight. The boys had been told all this by the trader over their coffee the night before.

It was evident, then, that they must slip up on their prey without being seen. This would be a comparatively simple matter, since the tumbled ridges of ice afforded ideal hiding-places. When close enough, Barney, who was the stronger of the two, was to drive the harpoon-point through the thick skin of the creature. This harpoon-point was fastened to a rawhide rope. He must instantly drive a copper-pointed lance into the ice, and wrapping the skin-rope about it, close to the ice-surface, hold on like grim death until Bruce dispatched the creature with his rifle. Wherever the beast was, in a small water-hole kept opened by himself, or a larger one formed by the shifting floes, their success would depend on Barney's ability to keep the rope free from jagged edges which might cut it, and Bruce's skill at quickly getting in a fatal shot. At regular intervals the walrus must rise for air, and this would give the opportunity for Bruce to get in his work.

"He's a moose!" whispered Bruce, as they crept close to the rather broad waters-hole and eyed the creature through a crack between upended ice-cakes.

"Tusks two feet and a half long! Must weigh a ton and a half!" Already Barney felt his muscles ache from the strain.

"Well, here's for it!" He exclaimed, coiling his skin-rope. The next instant there came a loud thwack, which told that the boy's shaft had found its mark. Instantly there was a hoarse bellow and then a wild splashing in the water. Bruce was at the top of a pressure ridge, ready for action. Barney had made his shaft secure, but then there came a strain that made the veins stand out on his forehead. Suddenly the strain slackened.

"Be ready! He's coming—" Barney did not finish, for from the churning water the walrus thrust his massive head, snorting and foaming. The rifle cracked.

Silently the great creature sank, but this time the foaming water showed a fleck of red where the walrus disappeared.

"Got him!" cried Bruce triumphantly.

But this time the strain on the lance was redoubled.

"Try—try to hit a vital—vital spot," panted Barney, as the strain lessened once more. "Behind front flipper—in the eye."

Again the water foamed. Again the rifle cracked. More blood! Another plunge, and again the strain seemed redoubled.

"I—can't—hold much—longer," Barney gasped.

Springing down from the pinnacle, Bruce ran to the edge of the pool, and, leaping upon a floating ice-cake, waited again.

This time his aim was better.

The strain when the walrus sank was not so great.

"Doing fine," breathed Barney. "Next time we'll—"

Again he did not finish, for, unexpectedly, his friend shot up in the air, to fall sprawling upon the cake of ice and cling there while it tilted to an angle of forty-five degrees. The walrus had risen beneath the cake and split it in two. Bruce was stunned by his fall, but Barney's warning cry roused him. One glance revealed his perilous position. The piece of ice to which he clung had been thrust toward the center of the pool. Even now the gap was too wide for him to leap. To plunge into the water, with the thermometer forty below, was to court death.

While he hesitated, the walrus rose to the surface. With a bellow that sprayed bloody foam about him, he charged the cake of ice. If ever there was need for a cool brain, it was now. Bruce, gripping his rifle, crouched and waited. Reaching the cake, the walrus hooked his tusks over its edge till it tilted to a perilous angle. Bruce's feet shot from under him, but by a quick movement he caught the upper edge of the ice. Pulling himself up till he could brace his feet, he took steady aim at the beast's wild and bloodshot eye. It was a perfect shot. The walrus, crumpling, began to sink into the water. Seeing this, Bruce clung to the cake until the tusk slipped off. In another moment the uncertain raft was at rest.

"Well, we got him," he panted, sitting limply on the ice. "But for mine in the future, give me the cozy dangers of aviation. I don't see much relaxation in this game."

The ice-cake soon drifted so that Bruce could jump ashore. With their combined efforts the boys were able to draw the dead walrus close in and tie him securely to the ice edge. Then they returned to camp to send a happy band of natives out for the meat and blubber.

"That head will make a fine trophy to hang in the front parlor of that five-room bungalow," laughed Barney, as a native brought it in that night.

"You may have it for your den," said Bruce with a shiver. "I never want to look a walrus in the face again."

"To-morrow," said the Major, as they prepared to retire, "the race will be resumed."



CHAPTER IX

FIGHTING THEIR WAY OUT

A careful examination of their "ivory jail" showed Dave and the submarine engineer that they were in a narrow chamber completely lined with walrus tusks. The tusks had been so ingeniously cut and fitted that only the grain of the glistening surface told where one tusk joined another. As for the door, so closely was it fitted that it was not to be located at all. In two corners were seal-oil lamps. These had feed-pipes of some form of dried sea-weeds. They could thus be fed from without. Two narrow openings, strongly barred with ivory tusks, one in the floor and one in the ceiling, permitted air to enter, but one peered through them into utter darkness.

"Tain't no wonder they left us our knives," grumbled Jarvis. "The bloomin' 'eathen knowed we'd wear 'em away before we made any h'impression on that ivory. But mind you, lad, this hain't the work of no bloomin' 'eathen—not no regular 'eathen it hain't. 'E hain't smart enough for that, your regular 'eathen hain't. 'Twas some one else, it was. Shouldn't be surprised if it was them three strangers."

As for Dave, he was worried less about himself than about his companions out in the bay. Knowing the growing impatience of the Doctor, he was prepared to expect him to attempt anything in case of their prolonged absence. Should he try to submerge the craft to bring her to land under the ice, it was an even chance every one on board would perish miserably—caught in the sunken "sub."

That he and Jarvis might be kept prisoners indefinitely seemed certain, for after some five or six hours, food was thrust in to them and they were left, apparently for the night. The food consisted of boiled fish and liver, probably walrus liver, soaked in rank seal oil. They ate a little fish and thrust the liver through the opening in the floor, the better to escape its nauseating odor.

"H'I'd die before h'I'd h'eat 'is bloomin' victuals," snarled Jarvis contemptuously, "that bloomin' 'eathen!"

He began poking about the narrow confines of the jail. Not being able to see to suit himself, he struck a match and touched it to the mass, placed on the edge of a brimming seal-oil lamp, in lieu of a wick. Immediately a line of fire was kindled and its light, reflected again and again by the dazzling whiteness of their prison walls, made the whole place as light as day. At once Jarvis gave a cry of surprise and began crawling toward the farthest side.

"H'I told you there was minerals," he exclaimed. "E's a rich un, this bloomin' 'eathen. H'it's gold, h'I'll be blowed!"

He began digging away with his knife at some yellow spots in the ivory. They were bits of inlaid gold.

"What's the idea?" asked Dave in surprise. "Are all prisons up here made of ivory inlaid with gold?"

"Y' can't tell, lad. 'E's a queer one, the bloomin' 'eathen, and if h'I be 'anged," sputtered Jarvis, "what's one pole more or less, when you've gold calling to come and take it. What—"

He paused, his mouth agape, words unsaid. The door of the ivory den had been softly opened, and framed in it were the dark, crafty faces of the three natives who had brought about their captivity and imprisonment. In their hands gleamed knives with long blades of a curious oriental type.

* * * * *

But we must return to the Doctor and his crew of gobs who had been left on the submarine.

When the young captain and his chief engineer did not return at sunset, deep concern for their safety was felt. Three searching parties were sent out, while, from time to time, flares were lighted to show them the way to the submarine, should they chance to have lost their directions on the ice-floe. The flares guided the searching parties back to the boat, but so far as finding trace of the missing ones was concerned, neither flares nor searchers were of any avail.

In the meantime, the Doctor paced the deck anxiously. They were losing valuable time. If only they could find a way to shore, the damaged shaft might be repaired and, during the interval, the captain and engineer would doubtless turn up.

At the first hint of dawn the watch discovered a lead half-way through the ice-floe. At once the Doctor ordered the submarine run into this narrow channel. The result was what might have been expected; the ice closed in and the "sub" was locked in the center of the floe. There remained but one way it could move—down, under the ice. Otherwise, it might drift indefinitely in this solid mass of ice. They would be carried away from the bay, away from their friends, and all hope of rescuing them would be lost. It was, indeed, a terrible plight.

Just at this time a bright young gob, Tom Rainey, came forward with an ingenious scheme. The "sub" carried a sufficient length of steel cable to reach to the farther edge of the ice-floe. Why, he reasoned, might they not pole this cable beneath the rather loosely-joined ice masses until they reached the open water, then submerge the submarine and, with a capstan, drag it like a hooked trout to the channel. It was a wild scheme, but the doctor was in a mood for anything. The crew were set to work at once, cutting holes in the ice-floes here and there and passing the cable from opening to opening. It was slow and freezing work, but in time the job was done.

When the cable was ready, the Doctor insisted that a sufficient crew be aboard the submarine when she submerged to man her in case she broke loose. This was, indeed, a hazardous mission, but volunteers were not lacking. And, with all speed, the trial was made.

The scheme worked better than they had dared to hope. When the "sub" passed from beneath the ice-floe, the second engineer in his superabundance of joy hazarded a few turns of the disabled shaft. This set the whole craft vibrating and drove her half-way across the narrow channel.

As the submarine rose to the surface the doctor saw a dark shadow pass over the glass window at the top. At the same time he felt a slight jar.

"Must have tilted a small cake of ice," he chuckled.

Then, as he lifted the hatch: "By Jove! No, it wasn't. It was a skin-boat full of natives! There they are in the water! Watch them scramble back into their boat. If we had a safer power, we'd go to their rescue. But they'll be all right. Now, they're all aboard."

That the natives were in a frenzy of fear while in the water, the doctor attributed to their dread of attack by a walrus. But when they began paddling away at top speed, he opened his eyes in wonder.

"Ah, well!" he said, at last, "who'd marvel at that? Ships are not in the habit of coming up out of the sea in the Arctic. And now I wonder—I just wonder, did they have anything to do with the disappearance of our friend Dave and the engineer?"

When all hands were on board lunch was served. By the time this was over the submarine had drifted to the solid shore-ice. She was at once tied up with the aid of ice-anchors, and preparations made for dragging her out of the water.

"But first," said the Doctor, "let us visit our friends, 'the bloomin' 'eathen,' as Jarvis styles them."

It was a strange sight that met their gaze as they entered the village. Men, women and children, with a wild wail, threw themselves flat on their stomachs, uttering the most melancholy moans that ever came from human lips. Interspersed with the cries were apparent appeals addressed to the visitors.

"What's all this rumpus?" the Doctor demanded of Azazruk, the Eskimo. "Can you understand their jargon?"

"They say," said the Eskimo, showing his white teeth in a grin, "that they know we are spirits—spirits of dead whales, since we come out of a whale's back, that came up from under the sea. They say not kill them us please. They say this that one. They say, kill plenty whale that one chief native. They say, fire for spirit of dead whale not make that, them. They say that, this one native. But they say not kill them and for sure they make fire, sing song for spirit of dead whale."

The Doctor, who understood this to be one of the superstitions of the natives, and knew that they had taken the submarine for a whale, began to laugh. But at once he checked himself.

Turning a scowling face at the only two standing natives, one of whom had a fresh cut across his cheek, he stormed:

"And why have these fellows no shame? Tell them to fall down at once, or I will step on them."

Azazruk repeated the message, and, surprised and frightened, the two men obeyed.

The Doctor eyed the two curiously for a moment as they lay there squinting up at him, their slant eyes gleaming with suppressed anger.

"Look like they'd been in a fight," he remarked.

And so they did. The darker of the two had the cut on his cheek, before mentioned, his fur parka was torn half off him, displaying some ugly bruises. His companion had lost half a sleeve and his right hand was bleeding.

"They're surely rascals, but you must play the good Samaritan at all times," he said, as he bent over one of them. "Rainey, get my case from the locker, will you?"

Rainey hurried to the submarine, a half mile away, while the natives, still half sprawling on the frozen earth, eyed the hardier fellows, while the Doctor bent over them, as if expecting at any moment to see them drop dead as a result of the magic power of these great spirits from the belly of a whale.

It was Jarvis and Dave who were responsible for the condition of the two natives of the strange bearing. When Jarvis saw their ugly faces and gleaming knives at the door of the ivory prison he was ready for a fight. His face turned purple, as he muttered between clinched teeth:

"H'it's our chance. 'Ere's where h'I make a killin'. At 'em Dave!"

And, led by his sturdy engineer, Dave hove at them right royally.

Their knives were short but their arms long, and as for skill, there were no better trained men in the army than Dave and Jarvis.

They made quick work of it. The "bloomin' 'eathen," surprised by the sudden onslaught, were on their backs in a trice. Two of them fared as I have said, and as for the third, he came out with a head so badly pummeled by Jarvis' fist that he was content to crawl into a dark igloo and stay there.

Once outside the prison Jarvis and Dave glanced quickly about them for a hiding-place. Much to their surprise, they did not see a native about the village. Made bold by this, they skirted the rear of the last row of huts, and, dodging down a snowed-in ravine, hid at last in the ice-heaps not twenty rods from the submarine. Not being aware, however, that their friends had succeeded in reaching the shore-ice, they crouched in their icy shelter, their teeth chattering from cold and excitement.

Jarvis had an ugly slash on his right arm. Dave had just succeeded in binding this up when they heard footsteps approaching. Jamming themselves hard into a crevice of ice, Jarvis whispered:

"H'I'll fight t' a finish before h'I go back to that white prison of the bloomin' 'eathen."

Dave made no response.

The steps came nearer, then began to die away.

"Didn't sound like the bloomin' 'eathen," muttered Jarvis. "No near's soft and glidin'. 'Ere 'e comes back. H'I'll 'ave a look." Creeping close to a corner, he peered cautiously out, then with a roar:

"Blime me, it's Rainey!" He sprang from concealment, almost embracing the young gob in his delight.

It was a joyful meeting that took place between the united parties.

When Jarvis saw the Doctor working over the disabled natives he roared first with laughter, then with anger. His last desire was to put them out of the way at once.

"For, sir," he argued, "them hain't no natural, ordinary 'eathen, indeed not, sir. They are the very h'old Nick 'isself, sir."

But Dave suggested putting them in their own ivory prison, and this advice prevailed. After their wounds were dressed they were thrust in and the door barred from without. Wiser men than the "sub" crew have learned that a man is seldom safe in a prison of his own making, but the sailors never gave the prisoners another thought.

"Rainey," said the engineer, as he found himself alone with the young gob, "we'll all be rich men."

"How?" asked his companion.

"There's mineral! Mineral! Gold, me lad, tons of it!" The older man's wrinkled face caught the tints of the sunset and seemed to take on the hue of the metal of which he spoke.



CHAPTER X

TO THE TREASURE CITY

Once all the members of the submarine party were reunited, their one thought was to repair their damaged craft as soon as possible and start again on their way to the Pole. Perhaps the engineer wasted a thought now and again on the supposed great mineral wealth of that peninsula, but if he did, he said nothing.

The men were divided into three groups. The first, the mechanics, undertook the task of removing the shaft; the second guarded the craft against possible attack by the natives, while the third was dispatched up the beach to search for firewood which the mechanics must have.

The work of the guard seemed a joke. Not one of the natives could be induced to approach the dark "spirit-whale" which some of their comrades had seen rise from the water. Even after the steel shaft had been brought ashore as tangible evidence that the craft was a thing of metal, they could not be induced to approach it.

The wood hunters found their task a hard one, for, either there never had been much driftwood on these shores, or the natives had used it for summer camp-fires. They searched far down the bay without finding a sufficient quantity to make "a decent fire over which to roast 'hot-dogs'," as Rainey expressed it.

But as the engineer rounded a point, he suddenly exclaimed;

"There! Ain't h'I been sayin' hit! I 'ates to think 'ow jolly stupit som'ums of ye are."

He was pointing to the banks which overhung the sea. The men, who were looking only for driftwood, did not at first see the cause of his exclamation.

"Coal, my lads!" Jarvis exclaimed, half beside himself. "Coal cropping from the bank!"

It was true. A careful examination showed a four-foot vein of soft coal. It was not long until reindeer sleds, secured from the natives, were drawing quantities of the fuel to a point beneath a cliff, where a crude forge had been made out of granite rock.

While this work was going on, the engineer disappeared in the direction of the village. In a half-hour he came tearing back, his face red with rage.

"They're h'out!" he sputtered. "The bally, blithering unnatural 'eathen hev flew the h'ivory coops. T'was to be expected. I 'ates t' think what h'I'd a-done, 'ad h'I 'ad the say of it."

"Oh, well," said the Doctor, who was inclined to take Jarvis' quarrel with the natives rather lightly, "in twenty-four hours we'll be away from these shores never to return."

"Return?" exclaimed Jarvis. "H'I'll return, an' Dave 'ere'll return. We'll be rich men, we'll be. I 'ates t' think 'ow rich 'im an' me'll be!"

But the Doctor was too busy hurrying the mechanics in their repairs to heed the words of the excited engineer.

Finally the forge was ready and as by the Arctic moonlight a black smoke rose higher and higher above the cliffs, and a fire blazed a thousand times larger and hotter than that black shore had ever known, the natives appeared to grow more and more certain that these men who came up from the depths of the sea were, indeed, the spirits of all the dead whales that they and their forefathers before them had killed. They looked on in silent awe.

It was with the greatest difficulty that Jarvis succeeded in finding one of them who was able to speak the Chukche language of Behring Strait, a language that was understood by Azazruk, the Eskimo. When, at last, he did find a man who knew Chukche and who was not too frightened to talk, he plied him with many questions.

"Who were the three strange-appearing natives who had attacked him and his companion in the jail? Where did they come from? What were they doing here? How did they happen to have such a strange jail? How did they chance to have a jail at all? Where did the gold come from that had been used to inlay the ivory? Was there much of it to be found?"

These, and many other questions, the engineer put to the trembling native, while, with one eye, he watched the operations of the mechanics who labored by the fire.

The man did not know the exact place from which the three strangers had come; it was somewhere far South, known as Ki-yek-tuk. The three had been a long time in the village and had inspired all the people with a great dread by telling them of a giant race who wore fierce beards like the walrus; who killed with a great noise at long distances, and who would break any jail except one of ivory. They had said that probably one or two of these fierce men would come at first, and, perhaps, if these were made prisoners, no others would follow. Hence the jail. And hence, too, the imprisonment of Dave and Jarvis. The natives had felt sure that they were the advance guard of these wicked, cruel men who had come to rob and kill. But now, of course, they knew they were spirits of dead whales, and would do them no harm.

As for the tusks with the inlaid gold, the man said they had been traded for by a very old man who had made a journey with a reindeer, ten nights and days from their village, due west. There, beside a great river, he had found a numerous people, who lived in houses of logs, very large and warm. He said, too, that these people had great quantities of this yellow metal. Their houses were decorated with it; their fur garments glistened with it; their council house was encrusted with it.

"But," he added at the end, "the metal was too soft for spear points and arrowheads, too heavy for garments, and not good for food. As for houses, did they not have their deerskins and walrus-pelts? So the old man never went back for more."

Dave had been sitting by the old engineer as he secured this information bit by bit through the interpreter. His eyes sparkled with excitement when he spoke.

"Well," he asked, when the native had finished, "what do you make of it?"

"Make of it?" exclaimed the old man. "It's plain as the nose on your face. H'as h'I see it, there's gold in this land just h'as h'I said before, plenty of it. H'and this 'ere tribe, way west there some'ers; they's been driven there by the Roosians, er by other tribes. Mayhaps they's Roosian h'exiles themselves. Mayhaps they's one of the seven lost tribes of h'Israel, what you read of in the Book. 'Owever that may be, it's there, and h'I 'ates to think 'ow rich you h'and h'I'd be h'if h'it wasn't fer this 'ere crazy Doctor's achin' to see th' Pole."

"Jarvis," Dave leaned forward eagerly, "we'll take the Doctor to the Pole, then we'll hire a submarine or a schooner and work our way back here."

"We will that, me lad," said the old man, gripping the boy's hand. "But then," he added more soberly, "maybe it won't be a bit o' use. Maybe the Japs will get it first."

"The Japs."

"Sure! The Japs. Ar' ye that blind? Don't ye know all the time the three rascals we well-nigh killed was Japs? Can't ye see 'ow they don't want the h'Americans or th' Roosians to git t' the treasure of this peninsula? Can't ye see 'ow bloomin' easy h'it'd be for 'em to put two or three spies in h'every bloomin' native village on the whole Roosian coast, and take the entire peninsula fer th' Jap Kaiser, or whatever they call 'im? Can't ye see 'ow th' thing'd work?"

Dave sat a long time in thought. At last he decided what to do.

"Perhaps you're right, Jarvis," he said finally, rising. "But our first job is the Pole. The shaft must be nearly fitted by now. Let's see how they're coming. Perhaps we'll be away in the morning."

As they rounded a block of ice by the shore, Jarvis gave a start and seized his companion by the arm.

"D'y' see 'im?" he whispered "'E was starin' h'at us from behint them ice-piles. 'E was a Jap. I'll swear it."

"Aw, you're seeing Japs to-night," laughed Dave.

"Ow is she?" Jarvis asked of a gob whom they met.

"Right as they make 'em—now. But I'll say it was some job that. The shaft was twisted something awful—like a corkscrew. But it was some steel, that shaft, and we just het her up an' twisted her straight again. The Doc said he guessed it would be a bit short, but when we got her back in place she fitted like paint. Then we slid the old boat back in the water and tried her out and she runs like a watch."

"Grand. We're off in the mornin'."

Dave and Jarvis turned to make their way to the submarine where a single gob, pacing the white ice-surface, had laughed at his job of watching natives who could not be induced to come within a half-mile of him.

Suddenly the engineer jumped forward.

"Did y' see that?" Jarvis grabbed Dave by the arm and urged him into a run. "'E went down—the guard, I saw 'im," panted Jarvis. "I saw 'im, then h'I didn't. H'it's the Japs. Listen!"

There came distinctly the sound of a dragging hawser.

"H'it's the Japs; the blooming bloody 'eathen," Jarvis panted. "They're h'after the submarine!"

Dave dragged him behind an ice-covered boulder.

"Quick!" he whispered. "If the submarine goes, we go with her, inside or outside, somewhere. We've got to take the chance."

Darting from ice-pile to ice-pile, they soon reached the water's edge. There lay the guard, unconscious, an ugly bruise on the side of his head. And there lay the submarine, silent and closed.

"She's off!" breathed the engineer.

It was true. The craft already showed a line of dark water between her and the shore.

Without hesitation, the old engineer sprang upon her deck and crouched by the conning-tower. Instantly Dave followed him. Their soft skin-boots made no sound. And, as they crouched there, the submarine headed for the channel and then toward the west.

"To the treasure city, h'I'll be bound," whispered Jarvis.



CHAPTER XI

A BATTLE BENEATH THE ARCTIC MOON

"THE TREASURE CITY"

"We'll stick 'ere behint th' connin'-tower," the engineer explained to Dave, as the submarine, turning, put off up the dark channel which separated the solid shore-ice from the great drift of ice-floe that lay beyond.

"If they submerge," suggested Dave, "we'll have a slim chance."

"H'I doubt if they understant that much," mumbled the engineer between chattering teeth. "H'anyway, right 'ere's where h'I stick, h'and once th' bloomin' 'eathen show a 'ead above the 'atchway, h'I 'ates t' think what'll 'appen to 'im."

"Perhaps the channel will close in and drive them ashore," suggested Dave hopefully, as he drew his mackinaw more closely about him and crouched nearer to the conning-tower, that he might avoid the cutting air and icy spray which reached him from the prow of the submarine.

"Mayhap," mumbled the engineer, snuggling close.

But the channel did not close. Also, the submarine did not submerge; it plowed straight on through the dark waters of the channel.

Night passed and the pale Arctic sun revealed the two figures huddling, half-frozen, behind the conning-tower. Daylight brought little comfort, serving only to remind them that they had no coffee for breakfast; indeed, had no breakfast at all. This set the engineer to muttering threats against the stranger who had stolen the submarine, and caused him for the hundredth time to remark:

"H'I 'ates t' think what'll 'appen t' 'em, once h'I gets me 'ands on 'em."

But the intruders stayed below while, slowly, the sun ran its brief course and then painted the ice-spires with shadows of deep purple. As the night came on, the two men were forced to move about to keep from freezing. Tip-toeing along, avoiding heavy glass windows, they conversed in low tones.

"We've been h'at h'it now goin' h'on twenty-four 'ours," murmured Jarvis. "H'it's two hundred h'an' forty miles, h'an' h'our course u'd be shorter than a reindeer's. H'if that bloomin' 'eathen that spoke of th' treasure city told truth, h'I'm one fer believin' we're nearin' th' spot."

Jarvis spoke more cheerfully than he had at any time during the strange journey. Dave smiled, as he wondered whether this was due to the fact their walk had warmed them somewhat, or his rising hopes that they would at least get to see the fabled treasure city.

"Tell me," Jarvis whispered, "do my h'old h'eyes deceive me, or h'is there a line of dark h'over t' th' right of y'?" His hand trembled as he pointed.

Dave looked long and earnestly. The moon shone very brightly. The snow brought out dark objects with such vividness that it would not be too much to expect to see large objects twenty miles away.

"I think your eyes are all right," he said slowly.

"Then that 'ud be th' forest by the river. Th' treasure city 'ud be just by the 'arbor h'at th' mouth of th' river, Dave. H'I 'ates t' think 'ow richer we'll be." The old man gripped Dave's hand.

As for Dave, he was silent. He was thinking first of the struggle that could not now be far distant. It would be a bitter fight, with odds in favor of the other party. However, he hoped the enemy had been weakened by the earlier combat. Then he thought of the men they had so unexpectedly left behind; of the Doctor who depended upon him, and of the gobs who had served under him, a boy, so faithfully. Such thoughts left him in no mood to think of treasure.

He was about to say as much to his companion when there came a rattle at the hatch of the sub.

Quickly he and the engineer crouched behind the conning-tower. Their breath coming hard, their hearts beating fast, they waited.

The throbbing of the engine stopped. The submarine glided silently on. The deathlike stillness was ended by the dull groan of a hatchway lifting. Armed each with a knife and a heavy ice-anchor, the two men waited.

* * * * *

In the meantime, during this twenty-four hours, so eventful to Dave and the engineer, other things were happening on the shore by the native village. When Rainey, who had been on guard at the time of the stealing of the "sub," had been found and brought back to consciousness, he could give no account of affairs, other than that he had been struck a violent blow on the head, and after that, remembered nothing.

For a single moment dark suspicion rested on Dave and the engineer. Some of the crew had heard them talking of the treasure city ten days' journey to the west, and had heard Jarvis remark that he "'ated t' think 'ow rich they'd be." Could it be possible they had seized the submarine and deserted the party for the sake of gain to themselves? For a moment faith wavered, then their better natures triumphed.

"Not them," they declared. "Not Dave and old Jarvis."

To this the Doctor heartily agreed. And, though his disappointment was great at having the expedition again delayed, and, perhaps, entirely thwarted, he turned his mind at once to matters of the hour.

Gathering his men about him, he outlined hastily a line of action for them in the present crisis. They were, he reasoned, in a perilous situation.

Several hundred miles west of any point reached by white whalers and traders, marooned with two hundred superstitious natives, who to-day worshipped them, but to-morrow, upon discovering the disappearance of the "spirit-whale," might turn upon them, they would be obliged to make use of every resource and every strategy to save their lives, should the submarine fail to return. His plan was, to deal fairly with the natives and keep their good will, if that were possible.

Fortunately, they had taken from the submarine ten good rifles with a hundred rounds of ammunition. Natives were seen at all hours of the day dragging behind them the carcasses of seal, oogrook (big-seal), and even polar bear. If these could be secured with the aid of such primitive weapons as harpoon and lance, they with their rifles might hope to secure an ample supply of the meat. And it had been proved that even a white man could live the winter through on a diet of meat and blubber in right proportions. They might also, at times, be able to trade for reindeer meat.

They would remain at the village until no hope remained that the submarine would return, then they would endeavor to get a store of meat, some reindeer, and deerskin sleeping bags, and make their way east to some point reached in summer by traders.

Three of the large skin-houses had already been turned over to them by the natives. These would provide ample shelter. Two were at once arranged as bunk-houses and the third as cook-shack.

When this had been done, with two men on guard, they turned in and slept.

Next morning, at six o'clock, four hours before daylight, every man was called out and assigned duties. It was the custom of the natives to depart for the hunting-ground at that hour. They should follow the same custom. Dividing themselves into two parties, one to watch camp, the other to hunt, they immediately set about their tasks.

The first day's hunt was under the direction of Azazruk, the Eskimo. The results were more than gratifying. Two ringed seals, one oogrook, ten feet long, and one young polar bear were the bag for the day.

"A full week's supply of meat," smiled the Doctor, rubbing his hands in high glee. In his interest in this new game, he had for the moment quite forgotten his great disappointment at the loss of the sub.

It was while they were smacking their lips over a hamburger, made of bear meat, that they were surprised by a young native, who rushed into their tent without the accustomed shouted salutation, seemingly quite beside himself with fear.

For some time nothing intelligible could be gathered from his excited chatter. But finally Azazruk made out that only an hour before, as he watched the reindeer, a great hairy monster had dashed at the herd, scattering it far and wide, and carrying away a yearling buck as easily as if it had been a rabbit.

"Probably a white bear," suggested Rainey.

"Not probable," said the Doctor. "A bear would eat his prey where it was slain."

"A wolf?"

"Couldn't do it."

"Well, what then?"

All eyes were turned toward the Doctor.

"You will judge me insane if I tell you what I think it was," he answered. "But here you are; I think it was a tiger."

"A tiger?"

"Tiger?"

Every man voiced his unbelief.

"A tiger in the Arctic?"

"Impossible!"

"That's absurd."

For answer the Doctor drew from his notebook a newspaper clipping, bidding Rainey read it aloud. The article was entitled "THE RUSSIAN TIGER" and was an account of the slaying of a gigantic man-eater by an American officer when American troops were stationed at Vladivostok, in eastern Russia.

"At that point," explained the Doctor, "they have about eight months of winter with a thermometer that drops far below zero. It may well be considered a part of the Arctic. Yet, as you see, they have tigers there; indeed, I am told they are not at all uncommon. So why not up here?" No one had a ready answer, and at last the Doctor spoke again:

"In the meantime, what are we going to do about it? It would seem that the natives are appealing to us for aid."

Rainey at once sprang to his feet, exclaiming:

"Count me one to go hunt the beast, whatever it is."

At once the others were on their feet shouting their eagerness for the hunt.

The Doctor chose a gob named Thompson to accompany Rainey on his "tiger hunt," or whatever it might prove to be. Rainey was well pleased at the choice, for Thompson was a sure shot and a cool, nervy hand in time of danger.

"If I don't hear from you by morning," said the Doctor, "I shall send a relief expedition."

Rainey had fully recovered from the affair of the previous day. Both he and Thompson had been among the guarding party that day, so were fresh and keen for work. They found the moonlight making the wide stretches of ice and snow light as day.

" Some night and some game!" murmured Rainey, as they emerged from the tent.

* * * * *

When the men in native garb, who had stolen the submarine, lifted the hatch to take an observation, they were utterly unaware of the presence of two figures crouching behind the conning-tower. This, in spite of the fact that the men wore their long knives strapped to their waists, gave Dave and the engineer a decided advantage—an advantage they were not slow to make the most of.

Fortunately, the robbers crowded up the hatchway, all eager to catch a first view of the reputed gold valley, in which lay the treasure city.

As the third head peeped above the hatch, Jarvis sprang at them. Swinging his ice-anchor, an ugly cudgel of bent iron with a chilled steel point, he sent two of the villains sprawling at a single blow. Meanwhile, Dave, who had grappled with the third man, made a misstep and together they plunged down the hatchway. His opponent landed full on Dave's stomach, and so crushed the breath from him that for a second the lad could not move. But instantly, he realized that he must act. The man was attempting to draw his long knife. Thrusting out a hand, Dave gripped the point of the blade in its soft leather sheath so tightly that it could not be withdrawn.

Struggling with every ounce of strength, the two men were rolling over and over on the deck. The stranger was heavier and evidently older than Dave, but the American had one advantage. He was dressed only in woolens. The heavy skin clothing of his antagonist hampered his action. In spite of this, Dave felt himself losing out in the battle. The stranger's hand was gripping closer and closer to his throat, and he felt his own hand losing its hold on the knife-blade, when he heard a welcome roar from the hatchway. It was Jarvis. With one leap he was at Dave's side. For an old man, he was surprisingly quick. Yet, he was not too quick, for the murderous knife was swinging above Dave's chest and a hand was at his throat, when Jarvis clove the assailant's skull with his ice-anchor.

With a groan the man collapsed. The knife clattered to the deck. Jarvis dropped to the floor panting.

"Are you hurt?" he gasped.

"No! Are you?"

"Not a scratch. Some jolly little weapon, them ice-h'anchors. H'I'll wear one of 'em h'in me belt from now on! H'I 'ates t' think 'ow cold th' water was when h'I pitched 'em h'in, them other two."

"Kill 'em?"

"Not that bad. But mebby they'll drown. H'I'll go see. H'I'd 'ate t' see 'em climbin' back."

He hurried up the hatchway, followed closely by Dave.

Not a sign of the two men was to be seen, either on the submarine, in the water or on the solid shore-ice, a few rods away.

"What d' y' think of that?" asked Jarvis, mopping his brow. "They're gone!"

"Perhaps they drowned."

"Mebbe drowned—mebby they're 'id h'in th' h'ice."

"Well, anyway, we're rid of them," said Dave. "We'll sew the dead one up in a blanket and throw him overboard; then we'll be going back. Think how all fussed up the Doctor will be." The boy chuckled.

"Going back?" Jarvis stared, as if unable to believe his ears. "Going back? And the treasure city within peep of h'our h'eyes. Going back, did y' say? H'I 'ates t' think 'ow rich we'll be, you an' me."

The sun was setting behind the dark line of timber. Some object at a point where the timber ended and the tundra began cast back the sunlight with a golden glow.

"D' y' see it, lad?" exclaimed the excited old man. "D'y'see it? H'it's gold."



CHAPTER XII

THE RUSSIAN TIGER

When Rainey and Thompson, accompanied by the native, left the village to hunt the strange creature that was working havoc with the village reindeer herd, they walked directly away from the rows of deerskin houses toward the tundra at the foot of the hills where, some five miles away, the deer were herded.