The five miles were accomplished mostly in silence. Each man was busy with his own thoughts. As for the little native, he seemed quite without fear as long as he was with the powerful "spirits of dead whales."

When they approached the brown line of the herd that spread itself across the horizon, the boy led them around it to a point beyond where the beast attacked the young deer.

There, though the ground had been much trampled by the maddened herd, they found many traces of the attack. Splotches of blood stained the snow and made a well-defined trail where the creature had carried off its prey. Soon they were beyond the patches of trampled snow and then the native left them to follow the trail alone.

Faintly, from the distance, came the rattle and clatter of reindeer antlers as the herd moved about. Above them, in all its silver glory, shone the moon. Now and again the hunters gave a start, as a ptarmigan, roused from its slumbers, went whirring away. To them every purple shadow of rock or bush or snow-pile might be the beast crouching over his kill.

"The Doctor's right!" exclaimed Rainey, bending over the trail, which still showed a bloodspot here and there. "It's no polar bear—here's the scratch of his claws where he climbed this bank. Polar bears have no claws, only a sort of hard lump on the end of each toe."

"No wolf, either," said Thompson, examining the tracks carefully. "The scratches are too long and too far apart. But, for that matter, who would even dream of a wolf large enough to carry off a two hundred pound deer?"

The beast's soft paws on the snow, hard-packed by Arctic winds, left a trail very difficult to follow. But, bit by bit, they traced it out.

At last the creature, having climbed a hill, had taken down a narrow ravine where scrub willows grew thick. And here they found unmistakable evidence that it had been some form of a great cat that had passed this way.

"Just like a cat's track," said Rainey. "And look at the size of 'em; must measure five inches across!"

They paused at the edge of the willows. They were brave men, but not fools. Only fools would venture into that thicket, where every advantage would be on the side of the lurking monster.

"There's a ridge up there running right along the side of this scrub," said Rainey. "We'll climb up there and walk along it. May get a glimpse of him. Then, again, he may have come out on the other side and gone on."

They climbed the bank and started along the ridge. Every yellow bunch of dead willow leaves at once became for the moment a crouching tiger, but each, in turn, was passed up. So they walked the ridge and had passed the willow clump, when Rainey gripped his companion's arm, whispering:

"What's that down there to the right? I think I saw it move."

Thompson gazed down the narrow pass for a moment, then whispered:

"C'mon. It's the very old chap. We can skirt the next bank of rocks and be right above him. We're in luck. It will be an easy shot!"

Creeping on hands and knees, with bated breath and nerves a-tingle, the boys came presently to a point above the half-hidden beast. As they peered down at him they could barely suppress exclamations of surprise. It was, indeed, a tiger. And such a tiger! Never, in any zoo or menagerie, had they seen his equal. He was a monster, with massive head, deep chest and powerful limbs; and his thick fur—nature's protection against the Arctic cold—seemed to emphasize both his size and his savageness.

"You're the best shot," whispered Rainey. "Try him!"

Thompson lifted his rifle and with steady nerve aimed at a point back of the fore-leg.

The tiger, who up to this time had apparently neither heard nor scented them, but had been crouching half asleep beside his mangled prey, seemed suddenly to become aware of their presence. Just as the rifle cracked, he sprang up the bank. His deafening roar told that the bullet had found a mark, but it did not check his charge.

Then came a catastrophe. Rainey leaned too far forward, causing some rocks and loose snow to slide from beneath him, and, in another second he shot down a steep incline to what seemed certain death.

To his surprise, he found himself dropping straight down. A hidden cliff here jutted out over the drifted snow. To his much greater surprise, instead of being knocked senseless, he was immediately engulfed in what seemed an avalanche of snow leaping up to meet him. His alert mind told him what had happened. A blizzard of a few days previous had driven great quantities of snow against the cliff. This snow was not hard-packed, and he had been buried in it by the fall. The problem now was to avoid the tiger, who was sure to spring upon him at the first glimpse and tear him in pieces. Then, suddenly, there flashed through his mind a picture left over from his boyhood days. It was that of a cat endeavoring to catch a mole, which burrowed industriously beneath the snow, raising a ridge as he burrowed. Could he play the part of the mole, as the tiger was sure to play the part of the cat? It was his only chance. His companion would not dare to shoot until he knew where Rainey was.

Putting himself in the position of a swimmer, the sailor began pawing at the snow and kicking it with his feet. The snow was hard packed against his face and he thought his lungs would burst. But he was making progress. Now, he dared back off a trifle and take a long breath of air from the burrow he had made. Then a sound stirred him to renewed effort. It was the thud and jar of an impact. The tiger, having made his first leap, had missed. How many more times would he do this? The boy once more jamming his head against the snow renewed his swimming motions. Again he was obliged to pause for breath. Again the tiger sprang; this time, seemingly, he was more accurate. Again the race was renewed. The boy's mind was in a whirl. Would his companion understand and risk a shot as the tiger prepared for another spring? He hoped so. Surely, he could not endure the strain much longer. One thing he was certain of, he could not hear the report of the rifle if a shot were fired. He must struggle on in ignorance of what was going on above him. The thought was maddening. The air in the narrow channel was stifling; yet, he burrowed on, and heard again the heavy impact.

He had burrowed his length and backed off again for breath, when he was forced to the realization that he could endure the air of the channel no longer. Apparently, the tiger's last leap had completely closed it.

Resolving to fight his way out, and then to trust all to flight, he thrust his hands upward and again began to burrow. With dizzy brain and wildly beating heart, he felt at length the fresh, frosty air upon his cheek.

But what was this that reached his ears? Surely not the roar of the tiger. Instead it was the joyous cry of his companion.

Dragging the snow from his eyes, Rainey stared about him. There, not five paces from him, lay the tiger with a bullet in his brain, while beside the body stood Thompson.

"Well," said the hunter with a grin, "you're sure some mouse!"

"And you're some shot!" said Rainey, floundering through the snow to his companion's side. "I guess that's the finest tiger skin in the world."

"It's yours as much as mine," answered Thompson. "We'll go share and share alike."



CHAPTER XIII

BRUCE AND THE BEAR

During this time of mishaps and adventures for the submarine party, what was happening to the boys and the Major in their airplane? With fair wind and weather they might well have been on the return journey from the Pole. But fair wind and weather are not for long in the Arctic. They were, indeed, on their way. As they shot away into the air from the native village near the trader's schooner, they heard the natives calling one word in unison. It was the Eskimo name for Thunder-bird.

The Major smiled happily at the boys as the plane soared upward.

Barney was again at the wheel. Two things he dreaded now: engine trouble, which might be brought on by poor gasoline, and an Arctic blizzard. If forced to land at any time, they would be in great danger of a crash, and a storm would double the danger.

But there could never have been a more wonderful day than that on which they left the little camp for the great adventure. Not a cloud whitened the blue dome of the sky, not a breath of air stirred. Soon the sun sank from sight, and twilight, strange and wonderful, lasting through three long hours, faded slowly into night. Then below them lay yellow lights and deep purple shadows, with here and there a stretch of black, which told of open water between floes.

The air grew colder as night came on, and speeding northward they saw the thermometer dropping degree by degree, and felt the chill creep through their garments in defiance of their electrical heating device. Barney began to worry about the effect of this intense cold on the tempered steel of his engines and the many-layered wood of his propellers; but as they sped on hour after hour, this restlessness left him.

But what was this? He found the machine shooting through space with greater freedom. One answer there was: a storm. They had been caught in the advance of a blizzard; how great and terrible, none could tell.

"Going to storm. Better land," telephoned the Major.

Obeying his orders, the boy dropped to a lower level. Here the wind was more intense and the air was filled with fine particles of snow which raced with them, only to glide away into the background. The whole ice-floe was already gray and indistinct from the drift. To pick a landing-place seemed impossible. For several moments of agonizing suspense they sped on; then, just as they were about to despair, there appeared before them a long expanse of white. Wide as three city boulevards, endless in extent, it appeared to offer just the opportunity they were seeking.

With a sign Barney shut off his engine, and, sailing on the wind, waited for a lull to give him a safe landing.

The lull came, then with a swoop, like a wild duck seeking water, they hovered, settled, then touched the surface.

The landing-wheels were shooting along over the snow with Barney's keen eyes strained ahead that he might avoid possible rough spots, when there came a cry of dismay from Bruce. With one startled glance about, Barney saw all. To the right and left of them the ice seemed to rise like the walls of an inverted tent. "Rubber-ice," his mind told him like a flash. They had attempted to land where the water had but recently frozen over, and was covered with a deceptive coating of snow. Only one hope remained: to rise again. Once the weak rubber-ice—thin, elastic salt-water ice—gave way, nothing could save them.

Tilting the planes and tail to their utmost capacity, Barney set first one engine in motion and then the other. But the yielding ice gave them no purchase. At the same time, it impeded their progress by offering them the slope of a mountain side to climb. One thing favored them. The peril of a moment before became a blessing. The wind freshened at every blast. At last, with a terrific swoop, it seized them and sent them whirling upward. In the down-swoop, they were all but crashed on a towering pile of ice, but escaping this fate, once more they were away.

Despite this near-catastrophe, Barney was determined to make a landing. The chill of the storm was so benumbing to muscles and senses that further flying could only result in stupor, then death.

Again he sank low and scudded along on the wings of the wind. To his great joy, he soon saw that they were passing over flat stretches of white. There could be no mistake this time; they were ice-pans, perhaps a quarter-mile across, such pans as form in quiet bays, to float away and drift north in the spring. Again he stopped his engines, determined, if he must, to circle and return to the flats he had passed. This did not prove necessary, however, and, to their great relief, the three were soon threshing their arms and stamping their feet on a solid cake of ice, and so vast that it seemed they must be on land, not hundreds of miles from shore on the bosom of a great ocean, which might, at the very point they stood, be a half-mile in depth.

Their first concern was to make camp. This storm might rage for days, and already they saw white spots forming on one another's cheeks, telling of frost-bites.

"We can't camp here in the open," said the Major. "Have to carry our blankets and sleeping-bags to the rougher ice yonder, where we can build a house of snow."

The suggestion was no sooner made than the boys were delving into the inner recesses of the plane and dragging out equipment and supplies.

"Primus stove, dried potatoes, pemmican, evaporated eggs, pickled butter, hard-tack, chocolate, beef tea, coffee," Barney called off. "Not bad for near the Pole."

The dogs were hitched to the small sled and soon all were racing away before the wind to the spot chosen for the camp. In a short time they were busy constructing a rude shelter, and the airplane for the moment was forgotten.

In the meantime, the wind was increasing, and the wings of the plane, catching first this swirl, then that one, began making great gyrating circles, cutting the air with a crack and a burr that might be heard rods away. Though these sounds did not reach the men, busy with the snow-shack, they did reach listening ears—a great white bear, wandering the floes in search of some sleeping seal, stood first on all fours, then on his haunches, to listen. Then, with many a misgiving and many a pause, he made his cautious way to the edge of that particular ice-flat where the plane rested. Thence, after more misgivings, he trundled his awkward body across the flat and took a position close to the plane, where, on his haunches, he stood and watched the apparently playful antics of the plane as if he thought it some great bird that had come to infest his domain.

Presently, when the plane nearest him seemed about to swoop down and touch the ice, he moved to a position beneath it, and, with tongue lolling, stood on his haunches again and swinging his giant paw to accompany the swing of the plane, struck out as it approached him. To his surprise, the plane did not come within twenty feet of the ice surface. He sank back on his haunches and awaited further developments.

When the snow-hut was completed, the first thought of the Major and the boys was of something to eat.

"Something hot!" exclaimed Barney, rattling away at the primus stove. Then he sat up with a look of disgust on his face.

"The needles for the primus," he groaned. "They're still over in the plane!"

"I'll get them," said Bruce, beginning to draw on his heavy parka. Soon he was fighting the wind back to the position of the plane. He had not battled with the elements long before he began to realize that all would not be well if the plane were left in its present position, unanchored as it was. And when he caught the hum and whirr of the wind through the wings, he was more thoroughly convinced of the fact than ever. As he came near and could see the long tilting toss of the wings, he realized that something must be done and at once. For a second he hesitated; should he return and call his companions, or should he attempt to anchor the plane, temporarily at least, unaided? He decided upon the latter course, and went at once to the body of the plane where were stored light, strong ropes of silk, and ice-anchors. He did not see the bear sitting patiently on his haunches beneath the tip of the long wing. Indeed, the snow-fog made it impossible, and it was equally impossible for the bear to see him.

Having secured four ropes and four ice-anchors, Bruce took two of the ropes and began climbing out on the right wing of the plane. His plan was to attach the ropes to the extremity of the wing, cast them down to the surface where he would anchor them later in each direction away from the tip of the wing. He would repeat the operation with the other wing, and, drawing the ropes down snugly, thus make the plane tight and steady.

He had climbed quite to the extremity of the wing and was about to tie his first rope, when a fierce gust of wind threatened to tear him from the rigging and crash him to the ice, a dangerous distance below. With a quick clutch, he saved himself but lost the rope. It was with a grunt of disgust that he saw it wind and twirl toward the white surface below. Then it was, for the first time, that he saw the yellowish-white object huddled there on the ice waiting.

"A bear!" he groaned, and instinctively reached for his automatic.

But at that instant there came a fresh swoop of wind that set the plane gyrating more violently than ever.

Clinging grimly to the bars, Bruce felt the wing swing down, down, then in toward the bear, till it seemed it must crash into the great creature. Before the plane rose Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Not ten feet beneath him was the savage face of the bear. All his gleaming white teeth showed in an ugly grin, as he stood on his haunches one mighty fore-paw raised in air, like a traffic policeman signaling a car to stop.

Then again the wing whirled to dizzy heights. Bruce was now quite ready to climb back the length of the wing and depart for camp to summon assistance. But to loosen his grip, even of one hand for an instant, was to court death. Again he felt the sickening sink of the plane, as if it were an elevator-car loosed from its cable. And this time, he felt instinctively, the wing would scrape the ice. And the bear, if he were still there? Well, there was going to be a crash and a general mix-up.

Bruce had been a football player in his day and was aware that there were times, if one were at the bottom of the heap, when relaxation was the play. As far as his position made it possible, he relaxed. And, in the meantime the plane swept downward.

For one fleeting instant he saw the white traffic cop of the Arctic wilderness still standing with paw upraised. Then everything was a blinding, deafening crash of ice and snow, wood, canvas and white bear.

Bruce gathered himself up some rods from the scene of the crash. Relaxed as he was, he had rolled like a football over the ice and had escaped with a few bruises. But the plane? As he caught a fleeting glimpse of it disappearing in the murky fog, he felt sure that it would take days, perhaps weeks, to repair it.

"And the worst is not yet! She's still swinging!" he groaned, rising stiffly.

But immediately his mind was turned to the white "cop." How had he fared? The boy felt for his automatic. Fortune favored him; it was still in his holster. This was well, for the white bear, very much shaken but still game, having wrought further havoc with the debris left by the demolished wing, was charging down upon him.

Standing his ground, Bruce waited until the bear was within six paces. One stroke from that giant paw would end the struggle. His aim must be true and certain. Suddenly his hand went to his side for a hip-shot. Put-put-put-put. Four bullets smashed into the bear, bringing him to a standstill. Put-put-put-put. With a roar, the bear sank to the ice. In a second he was dead.

It was with a feeling almost of regret that Bruce bent over the giant beast. But it was with a sense of new power that he noted that seven of his bullets had crashed through the Arctic Goliath's skull.

Again his mind was turned toward the plane. Cold and hungry as they were, he realized that he and his two companions must spend the next hour making their craft safe from further damage.

Three hours, indeed, elapsed before they were again seated in the snow-cabin. This time the primus stove was going and the coffee coming to a boil.

"Well," said the Major, "I'm glad we're all here. We'll be delayed for several days. We may have lost the race. But we won't give up. As long as our plane has wings we'll keep on. No race is ever lost until the goal is reached and passed. Let's eat."

"Anyway," said Barney, as he sipped his cup of hot coffee, "we won't run out of dog meat and hamburger soon. I'll bet Bruce's bear weighs a thousand pounds dressed."

"Fourteen inches between the ears," grinned Bruce proudly.



CHAPTER XIV

"BOMBED"

Standing silently beside the aged engineer, Dave Tower gazed thoughtfully at the golden dome that flashed, then slowly darkened in the setting sun. That yellow gleam did not lure him on, for the honor of helping to reach the Pole was more to him than money. But Jarvis? He perhaps had learned in his long years of labor that "the paths of glory lead but to the grave," and now that he was growing old wealth would mean escape from toil and worry. Perhaps, too, somewhere in the States a gray-haired wife awaited him to whom just a little of that gleaming gold would mean rest and peace as long as she might live.

So Dave looked at the golden dome and pondered what he ought to do. When at last, he spoke, his tone was kind:

"Jarvis," he began, "as you know, I am in command of this craft. The fact that it has been stolen and won back, more by your efforts than by anything I have done, does not change matters any. I am still commander."

Jarvis looked up with an impatient gesture, as if about to speak, but Dave kept on:

"As captain of this submarine, I might order you below, and your refusal to do so would be mutiny. But from the time we came aboard this craft we have been more like pals than commander and engineer. I give you my word of honor I will never order you below. If you go, you go of your own free will."

Jarvis raised his face for a moment, and upon it was a look of growing hope.

"You know," Dave continued, "what our duty is. We shipped under the orders of the Doctor. Those orders still go. No matter how fine the chances are that we are letting slip, we are bound to do as the Doctor wants.

"More than that, we have friends back there who had only two days' supply of food when we left them. They are living in a village of superstitious, treacherous savages, who may attack and murder them at any moment. Jarvis," he touched the old man's hand, "we are American seamen. Will you forget your flag and your shipmates for gold?"

For a second the old man stood in silence, then with a rush, he stumbled down the hatchway, and in another moment Dave heard him tinkering away at his engines.

Before Dave wrapped the dead stranger in his burial blanket, he searched the pockets of his clothing. There was no mistaking the garments; they were oriental in make. And had there remained any doubt, it would have been dispelled by two packets of papers taken from an inside pocket. These bore the official stamp of that oriental government which had been named by Jarvis.

"I must tell Jarvis," said the boy to himself. "It will please him to know that he was right."

And that night, while they glided silently back toward the native village they had left not many hours before, leaving the treasure city a mystery unexplained, he did tell Jarvis. As he finished, the old man's face lighted.

"The thing that's troublin' me just now," he said slowly, "is the question of th' two bloomin' 'eathen that faded from h'our h'eyes. H'I 'ates to think they live, an' h'I 'ates to trust my 'opes they're done for. If they're h'alive, they may get the treasure yet, an' h'I 'ates t' be beat by a bloody, bloomin' 'eathen."

"They're a long way from home base," said Dave with a grin. "They may find the treasure, but getting it home's another thing."

"I want you to know," he went on, huskily, "that I appreciate your standing by me, and if we get out of this alive, you and I, with our discharge papers, I promise I'll be your partner in this new enterprise—the quest for treasure; that is, if you'll take me on."

"Will h'I?" Jarvis sprang to his feet, a new glad light in his eye. "Will h'I? 'Ere, give us a 'and on that. H'and we'll win, lad; we'll win! An' that in spite of th' bloomin' 'eathen!"

It was early the next morning that the Doctor, who was enjoying, with the gobs, the native festival of rejoicing over the killing of the great, and to them unknown, beast which had attacked their reindeer herds, he noticed a young native come running from the direction of the sea. He paused now and again to shout:

"Tomai! Tomai!" which was the native call for the arrival of a boat.

Instantly the crowd was thrown into commotion. Natives rushed hither and thither. But the white men realized at once that this could mean nothing less than the return of the submarine, and, while they did not at all understand it, they whooped their joy and rushed toward the shore to see a dark body rounding the point.

"The sub! The sub! Hurray! Hurray!" they shouted, tossing their caps high in air. And the submarine indeed it was. Dave and Jarvis were overjoyed to rejoin their companions.

The stories of adventure were soon told and then everyone was set to hustling the last bit of equipment on board. There would be neither meals nor sleep until everything was in readiness and they were away.

As the Doctor and Dave stood on deck watching the casting off of the ropes, the Doctor spoke of his plans.

"We may have lost the race," he remarked rather grimly, "but we're going to the Pole just the same. It will mean something to you boys, at least, to be able to say that you've been there. It was my purpose to lay our course directly for the Pole without establishing a base, but since we have been carried out of our way so far, and have used so much fuel, I feel that it will be wise to head for the farthest-north point of Alaska—Point Barrow.

"I was assured, in Nome, that there were two oil-burning whalers wintering near there, and I have no doubt that we can depend on them for extra fuel."

The hatches were lowered, the submarine sank from sight amid the "Ah-ne-ca's" and "Mat-na's" of the awe stricken natives who lined the cliffs a half-mile away. The sub, with all on board, was again on its way to enter the race for the Pole.

"The race is on," said Dave.

"I wonder?" smiled the Doctor.

Three times they rose in dark waterways for air. The fourth time it seemed they must be nearing land—

Yes, as the submarine bumped the edge of an ice-floe, a point of land showed plainly to port.

Dave, with field-glass in hand, sprang to the nearest ice-cake, then climbed to a pinnacle to take an observation.

"Clear water to the left of us," he reported.

"Too close ashore?" asked the Doctor.

"I think not," was Dave's answer. "We'll have to submerge for three or four miles; then we'll be clear of the ice."

Signal bells clanged, and again they were gliding under the ocean's armor of ice.

As he listened to the hum of the machinery, one question puzzled Dave. He had seen something along the end of that ice-floe. What was it? A sail? If so, it was a very strange one—half white and half black. He could not be sure it was a sail. But what else could it have been?

But now they had swept out from under the ice. It was time to rise. Instantly he pressed the button. The craft slowed again. Another press, and as before they rose. This time no white surface would interrupt them. A current coming from land caught them forward and tilted the craft. She slanted from fore to aft. This did not matter; she would right herself on the surface like a cork.

But what was this? As the point shot from the water, something rang out against the steel. This was followed immediately by what, in the narrow apartments, amounted to a deafening explosion; then came the sound of rushing waters.

"Great God! We're bombed!" shouted the Doctor.

Dave's cool head saved them for the moment. His hand seized an electric switch and he pulled it desperately. The bow compartment was quickly closed, checking the rush of water into the rest of the "sub," Fortunately, no one had been forward at the time.

But now they were sinking rapidly. Then came the throb of the pumps forcing out the water from the compartments aft. Slowly the sickening sinking of their ship was checked.

"Will she rise again?" asked the Doctor, white-faced but cool.

"I think so, sir," responded Dave.

Dave watched a gauge with anxious eyes. The pumps were still working. Would the craft stand the test? Would she rise?

One, two, three minutes he watched the dial; then a fervent "Thank God!" escaped his lips. The sub was rising again.

But once more his brow was clouded. What awaited them on the surface?

"One more," he muttered, "just one more, and we are done for."

Every man aboard the submarine had a different explanation for the bomb which had disabled their craft. Jones, the electrician, had just finished reading the adventures of a young British gunner in these very waters somewhere back in the eighties. The story had to do with the defense of seal fisheries against the Japs, and Jones was sure that a Japanese seal-poaching boat had bombed them. McPherson, who had seen active service chasing German subs, was certain they had encountered one of the missing U boats. Wilder believed it had been a Russian cruiser, and, of course, Jarvis blamed it to the "bloomin' 'eathen."

The first and third of these theories could be discarded at once, since no craft was to be seen when last they submerged, and a cruiser or schooner of any size could scarcely have escaped their attention.

As for Dave, he had another theory, but was too busy to talk about it. He had read a great deal regarding the Eskimos and their methods of hunting.

Meanwhile the submarine was rising slowly toward the surface. She was coming up with her stern tilted high this time, for the water in her forward compartments disturbed her balance. Every heart beat fast as the water above grew lighter.

"McPherson, be ready to throw open the hatch the minute we are clear," commanded Dave. "All life belts on?" he asked.

"Aye, aye, sir!" came in chorus.

"Rifles?"

"At hand, sir."

"Ready then."

There came a sudden burst of light, the creak of hinges, the thud of the hatch, then the thud of feet as the men rushed for the deck.

In another moment the crew found themselves outside clinging to the tilted and unsteady craft, blinking in the sunlight, and seeing—? Principally white ice and dark water. Off in the distance, indeed, was an innocent-looking native skin-boat. There were, perhaps, ten natives aboard.

"Thought so," chuckled Dave.

"You thought what?" demanded the Doctor. Every eye was turned on the young commander.

"Thought we'd been shot by natives with a whale-gun. Took us for a whale, don't you see? Whale-gun throws a bomb that explodes inside the whale and kills him. In this case, it exploded against us and raised the very old dickens. Here they come. You'll see I'm right."

And he was right. The crew of christianized natives were soon alongside, very humble in their apologies, and very anxious to assist in undoing the damage they had wrought.

"Have we any extra steel plate?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes, sir. Have to be shaped, though," replied Dave.

"Can we do it?"

"I think so, on shore."

"All right, then. Get these natives to give us a hand and we'll go on the sand-bar for repairs. Bad cess to the whaling industry of the Eskimos! It's lost us a full two days, and perhaps the race! But we must not give up. Things can happen to airplanes, as well."

It took a hard half-day's work to bring the craft to land, but at last the task was done and the mechanics were hammering merrily away on the steel with acetylene torch sputtering, and forty natives standing about open-mouthed, exclaiming at everything that happened, and offering profound explanations in their own droll way.



CHAPTER XV

THE MYSTERY CAVERN

Once their craft was repaired, the submarine party pushed northward at an average rate of ten miles an hour. It was two days before any further adventure crossed their path. But each hour of the journey had its new thrill and added charm. Now, with engine in full throb, they were scurrying along narrow channels of dark water, and now submerging for a sub-sea journey. Now, shadowy objects shot past them, and Dave uttered a prayer that they might not mix with the propeller—seal, walrus or white whale, whatever they might be. In his mind, at such times, he had visions of floating beneath the Arctic pack, powerless to go ahead or backward and as powerless to break through the ice to freedom.

Wonderful changing lights were ever filtering through ice and water to them, and, at times, as they drove slowly forward, the lights and shadows seemed to have a motion of their own, a restless shifting, like the play of sunlight and shadow beneath the trees. Dave knew this was no work of the imagination. He knew that the ice above them was the plaything of currents and winds; that great cakes, many yards wide and eight feet thick, were grinding and piling one upon another. Once more his brow wrinkled. "For," he said to himself, "it may be true enough that the average ice-floe is only twenty-five miles wide, but if the wind and current jams a lot of them together, what limit can there be to their extent? And if we were to find ourselves in the center of such a vast field of ice with oxygen exhausted, what chance would we have?"

Dave shuddered in answer to the question.

He was thinking of these things on the eve of the second day. They were plowing peacefully through the water when, of a sudden, there came a grating blow at the side of the craft. It was as if they had struck some solid object and glanced off.

"What was that?" exclaimed the boy. He cut the power, then turned to the Doctor:

"Ice or—"

"There it goes again!" exclaimed the Doctor.

This time the blow was heavier. It sent them against the side of the compartment.

"Ice beneath the ocean? Impossible!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Must be rocks!"

Another blow hurled them in the opposite direction. Both realized the gravity of this new peril. If one of these blows caught the craft squarely it would crush the sub like an egg-shell.

But the boat was slowing up. There was hope in that. Dave, attempting to look out of one of the portholes, was thrown to the floor by another shock. And this time the craft seemed to have stuck, for she did not move.

"Where can we be?" asked Dave, rubbing a bruised head.

It was a strange sight which met their eyes as they looked from the conning tower. On every side appeared to be giant pillars of ice. Between these were narrow water passages, while above they could make out a mass of ice far more opaque than any they had yet passed beneath.

"One of two things," said the Doctor. "We are beneath an iceberg or the end of a glacier. Probably a glacier, and the pillars which support it reach to the bottom, which must not be far below us."

"We have driven between two pillars and stuck there like a mouse in a trap," said Dave, "and if we cannot set ourselves free, we are—"

"It must be done!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Start the power slowly and see what the propeller will do."

Dave gave the signal. There followed a harsh, grating sound, but the boat did not move.

"Stuck!" muttered Dave.

"Not so fast." said the Doctor. "There's hope yet. Shut off the power and order all hands aft."

"Now," said the Doctor, when they were assembled. "We will go to the starboard side, then all together dash to port, and throw our weight against the side. Then turn and rush back—we want to make her roll. Are you ready? Go!"

The craft stirred a trifle at the shock. The second attempt seemed to promise still better. After they had repeated the operation half a dozen times, they were getting considerable side-wise movement out of the trapped submarine.

"Now," said the Doctor, "start the power slowly, engine reversed. The instant she is free, shut off the power. On the precision of this operation depends all our lives, for should the propeller strike one of those pillars it will be torn away and our hope of escape gone."

Dave's hand trembled as he moved the lever. For one second the propeller spun around. Then, with a shudder, the craft started backward. That instant Dave shut off the power. The submarine drifted free. So far, they were safe.

The Doctor consulted his watch.

"Time of low tide," he observed "Guess we should be able to rise and get some air. Try it."

Slowly they rose to the surface, and there the craft rested.

It was an eager throng that rushed from the conning-tower and it was a wonderful and awe-inspiring sight which met their gaze.

"Cathedral of the Polar Gods!" exclaimed the Doctor. And, indeed, so the great cavern seemed to be. Great pillars of ice, not yet worn away by the wash of water, supported giant arches of ice, blue as a mid-June night. The least echo was echoed and reechoed through the vast corridors. The murmur of distant waves seemed to come from everywhere.

"What I want to know," said Dave, "is, which way is out. The careless gods seemed to have neglected to mark the exits."

"We'll find an exit," said the Doctor, "and we'd better be about it, for it'll be much easier at low-tide than at high."

The engine was started, and slowly they steered their way through countless aisles and broad halls, but the finding of the way out did not seem so easy after all. They had penetrated far enough into the cavern to hide them from the pale outer moonlight, and they were not certain that their course was not taking them farther from it.

Dave was thinking of turning about when the sub came to a stop with a suddenness which threatened to pitch the party into the sea.

"What now?" demanded the Doctor.

Ordering the power shut off, then flashing a light before them, Dave exclaimed: "A beach, a sandy beach!" Then, with the enthusiasm of a boy, he sprang forward, leaping into shallow water and wading ashore.

Once ashore he flashed his light about in the icy caverns which left but a narrow sandy beach. Then, with a cry of horror, he sprang backward. Before him towered an immense hairy monster, with tusks three times the length of a man's arm.

The instant the cry had left his lips, he knew the laugh was on him. But the cry had gone forth, echoing through the corridors. It brought the jackies and the Doctor splashing through the water to his rescue.

"Only a frozen mastodon," he grinned sheepishly, as they came to his side. "Guess he's been dead ten thousand years, to say the least. But honest, doesn't he look natural standing there in the ice?"

He flashed the light suddenly upon the ice-encased monster, and the jackies jumped, as if they, too, expected to be attacked.

"A beautiful corpse, I'd say," exclaimed one of them.

"A most remarkable specimen," commented the Doctor. "I've heard of cases like this, but never saw one before."

"Say!" exclaimed Jones. "If we could only get him out of here like that and put him down in alcohol, we'd have a side-show that would make Barnum jump out of his grave!"

"Not a bad idea," said the Doctor. "The only hitch would be getting him out of here."

As Dave backed away for a better view, his foot struck something hard. Flashing his light upon it, he found it to be the skull and tusks of a walrus. They were as black as coal.

"I've made a find!" he exclaimed. "These tusks we may take with us, and old ivory is about as valuable as precious stones."

The discovery seemed to waken the Doctor to their peril.

"That walrus," he said, "wandered in here and was drowned by the rising tide. He can breathe under water, but cannot stay down over ten minutes. We can't breathe at all under water. The tide is setting in."

These words sent the crew scurrying back to the submarine. Already the tide had risen sufficiently to float the craft. All hands hastened to re-embark.

"If we set our course directly at right-angles to this beach and keep it there," said Dave, "it should bring us to safety."

This was done, and, after many a turn and twist, they caught a gleam of light. Submerging, they were soon beneath the ice-floe once more. With a sigh of relief, Dave gave the order to rise at the first water-hole. There they might take their bearings.

A half-hour later the party was gathered on the deck gazing away at an island above which there towered a snow-capped mountain. Down the side of the mountain might be distinguished the winding, blue course of a great glacier.

"Our glacier!" said Dave. "Some glacier, I'll say!"

"Our glacier!" repeated a jackie. "Long may she glide!"

The course was set at an angle to the island. This would carry them past any treacherous sand-bars. They would then take another tack and resume their former course.

At a few minutes before noon that day they rose far from the island. The sun, a pale yellow disk, shone through a thin haze close to the surface of the pack. And yet it was high noon. This was, perhaps, to be their last bearing taken by the light of the sun. Henceforth, the moon and the stars must guide them. Whereas all former polar expeditions were carried forward only during the summer months, when the sun shone night and day, they, as well as their rivals, must drive on straight into the deep mysteries of the dreaded Arctic night.



CHAPTER XVI

WRECKED

"All aboard! Change here for all way stations; our next stop is the Pole!"

Barney, the daring aviator, sang the words cheerfully, as he settled himself in his place at the wheel. He hardly felt the cheerfulness his tone implied. True, they had spent twelve days repairing the damage done to the plane by the wind and its collision with the white bear, but it was a rather patched-up affair now it was finished—as it needs must be with the few materials and tools at their command. As he had expressed it to Bruce only the night before: they had a crippled wing, and a bird with a broken pinion never soars so high again, even if it is a bird of fabric, wood and steel.

However, he was truly glad to be getting away on what they hoped might be their last lap. The grave-like silence of the Arctic, with its glistening whiteness everywhere, had gripped his nerves.

"Well, here's hoping," he murmured to Bruce, as the plane hopped off.

As for the Major, he sat with face fixed as a bronze statue. His gaze was toward the Pole.

For fourteen hours they soared steadily onward. Only the air, which grew crisper and more stinging as they advanced steadily northward, told them they were nearing the Pole. Observations from the plane were impossible. The sun, which had been appearing less and less each day, was now quite lost to them. Only the moon in all its glory tinted the blue ice-piles with wavering ghost colors. The wind for once was still. Not a bird appeared in the sky, not an animal met the gaze of their binoculars as they peered below. It was as if the whole Northern realm had become suddenly silent at the magnificent spectacle of three men sailing alone over spaces never yet traveled by man, and where dangers lurked at every turn.

The plane, too, was surprising its driver. It answered his least touch on the lever controls. The engines were working perfectly. Only now and again he caught a faint lurch which told his practiced senses that some of the rudely improvised splices were working loose. Even these gave him no great alarm; at least, they did not seem sufficiently serious to warrant an immediate landing.

But suddenly, as they were soaring over the wildest, most treacherous-looking stretch of floe ice that eyes have ever rested upon, the plane gave a lurch. A shudder ran through her from wing to wing, and, with a plunge, she shot side-wise. The outer half of her right wing had doubled up on the inner half, like a blade to a jack-knife.

Bruce took in the situation at a glance. Before a hand could stop him, he had unbuckled his straps, and, creeping to the extremity of the remaining half of the wing, he clung there, thus adding his weight to its balancing power.

Already Barney had shut off the engines. With the added weight to the right the plane became steadier. Danger of a whirling spin to the ice-surface seemed for the time averted.

"What a landing-place!" groaned Barney, almost touching the starting lever in his eagerness to save the plane. But he stayed his hand; to start the engine under such conditions would be madness. Some form of landing they must make, even if it was but to "crash."

So they sped steadily downward, realizing that the goal they sought must now, with the aid of their dog-team, be easily within their grasp; yet realizing also that all means of returning was likely to be denied them, unless, indeed, one were to call five dogs a means of traveling over hundreds of miles of tangled, tumbling mountains of ice.

Suddenly, Barney's heart leaped for joy. Just before them, within possible area of landing, lay a perfectly level stretch of ice. It was not large, was, in fact, perilously small, yet it offered a possible landing.

Tilting the left plane to its utmost, adjusting the tail, Barney glided onward. With bated breath he saw the white plain rise to meet them. With trembling hand he touched a lever here, a button there. Then—a jar—the landing-wheels had touched. They touched again. The moving plane fairly ate up the scant level space, yet she slowed and slowed until at last, with hardly a tremor, she rested against the outcropping ridge of ice at the floe's edge.

With a glowing smile the Major unstrapped himself to reach out his hands in thanks and congratulation to his pilots.

But—where were they? They had disappeared. He found them in front of the plane calling to him for assistance. Then he saw the danger their more practiced eyes had already noticed. The ice at this point was piling. At this moment the very cake against which they had stopped was beginning to rise. Within a space of moments, the plane, unless turned and thrust backward, would be crushed beneath hundreds of tons of ice. "If we can get her back we can save her!" panted Bruce.

"Swing her!" shouted Barney, throwing his whole strength against the right wing.

"Now she moves!" yelled Bruce joyously. "Now! Heave ho!"

The great craft turned slowly on her wheels. Now the plane was clearing the ice. Now—now in just a second—she would be safe.

But no—the right wheel caught in an ice-crevice. Three desperate efforts they made to free her, then, just as the giant cake towered, crumbling above them, the Major shouted the word of warning that sent them leaping back to safety but cost them their machine.

True, it stood there, still. The mechanism was perfect, the engines uninjured. But the right wing was completely demolished. Buried beneath tons and tons of ice, the craft that had carried them so far was crushed beyond all hope of repair.

With despair tugging at their hearts, the three stood looking at the wreckage. But they were not of the breed that quits.

"We'd better get our stuff and what's left of the plane out of the way of danger," said Bruce at length.

"The stuff—blankets, grub and the like, yes, but"—Barney smiled in spite of himself—"why the plane? She's done for."

"Because," said Bruce, "you can never tell what will happen."

The pressure which was piling the ice diminished rapidly, and the back edge of the cake proved a safe place to make camp. Soon they were boiling tea over a small oil stove and discussing the future as calmly as they might have done had they been in the old office-shack back on the Hudson Bay Railroad.

"Now to find where we are," exclaimed the Major, knocking the tea leaves from his cup.

The interest in this project was keen. After working out his reckoning, estimating the speed of their flight and counting the hours they had been in the air, the Major laid down his pencil.

"Fifty miles southeast of the Pole," he said at last. "Shall we attempt to go on or turn back?"

The boys looked at one another. Bruce read in his companions' eyes the desire to attempt the return with the dog-team. At the same time, he realized that the real genius of an explorer lay in his desire to push on. The Major had that genius.

"As for me," Bruce said finally, "I never decide anything of great importance until I have slept over it."

Barney smiled in spite of his anxiety and weariness.

But the Major, seeing the strained expression in the boys' faces, realized that the ultimatum of Bruce was a good one.

Soon the three companions were snug in their sleeping-bags, dreaming of a land of grass and flowers far, far away.

* * * * *

As soon as the submarine was safely on its course after the glacier incident, Dave, who had not slept for many hours, turned in for "three winks." His three winks had stretched on into hours, when he was wakened by a sudden jarring that shook the craft from stem to stern. He was on his feet in the passage-way at once.

"What happened?" he demanded of a sailor.

"Blamed if I know," said the other. He was white as a sheet.

One thing Dave made sure of as he hurried toward the wheel-room; they were drifting under the ice-floor of the ocean. Was the motor simply dead, or was the propeller gone? He had but an instant to wait. There came the purr of the motor, then the sudden sound of racing machinery, which told plainer than words that the worst had happened.

"I think it was a walrus, sir," said Rainey, who had been in charge of the wheel-room. "I had just caught sight of a dark blotch gliding by and reached for the power when the racket started."

"What were you making?" asked Dave quietly.

"Our usual ten knots."

The compartment they were in was filled with levers and adjusting wheels of all descriptions. The walls were lined with gauges and dials of many styles and sizes. A person on entering and taking the operator's position, might fancy himself in the center of a circle of gears and driving wheels of many automobiles.

Dave glanced at a gauge, then at another. He touched a wheel, and the hand on the second dial began to drop. They were now rising. As a usual thing, they traveled some forty feet below the surface. Icebergs were scarce in these waters, and the ordinary floe did not lie more than twenty feet below sea-level; still, it was safer lower down. But now—now their safety rested in gliding to a point beneath a water channel or hole, and, once they were under it, they must not fail to rise.

"No, not if it takes our conning-tower to do it!" Dave said savagely, as he finished explaining.

They were still drifting through the water at a rather rapid rate, but little by little a speed gauge was falling. Soon they would be lying motionless beneath the Arctic floe, as helpless as a dead whale; and should no dark water-hole appear before that time came, they were doomed.

Dave wiped the cold perspiration from his brow, as the hand on the dial dropped lower and lower. He touched a wheel again, and they rose another ten feet. "Must be nearly bumping the ice by now; but at such a time as this one takes risks," he muttered.

What was that? Did he sense the dark shadow which always presaged open water? Surely, if walrus were about, there must be open water to give them air. And, yes—there it was; a hole in the floe!

His trembling hand again touched the wheel. The hand on the dial had dropped to nearly nothing. If the water-hole was narrow; if they missed it!

But no—up—up they shot, and in just another moment men were swarming from the conning-tower.

"Say!" exclaimed Dave, wiping his forehead. "Do you remember the obstacle-races they used to have at county fairs when you were a boy?"

The jackie he spoke to grinned and nodded.

"Well, this is an obstacle-race, and the worst I ever saw. The worst of it is, there are two prizes—one's the Pole and the other our own lives!"

The open water they had reached at so fortunate a moment proved to be a channel between floes. They were in no immediate danger now, but to repair the damage done to the shaft and adjust a new propeller, it was necessary that they drag the submarine to the surface of a broad ice-cake. This task was not as difficult as one might imagine. With the aid of ice-anchors, iron pulleys and cables, they without much delay harnessed their engine and finished the job all ship shape.

"Look!" said one of the seamen, pointing at the narrow stretch of water. "She's closin' in!"

As the men looked they knew it to be true; the channel was certainly narrower than when they first rose upon its surface.

Securing a light line, the Doctor attached it to a plummet. Throwing the plummet across the space, he drew the line taut. He then marked the point where the ice-line crossed it. Then for five minutes he divided his attention between the line and his watch. As he rose he muttered;

"Two hours! Two hours! How long will it take to complete the repairs?"

"Four hours, at least," Dave replied calmly.

"Then we're defeated!" The Doctor began pacing the surface of the ice. "We're stuck—beaten! In two hours the channel will be closed, and there is not another patch of open water within five miles!"

If Dave seemed unnaturally calm on receipt of such news, it was because he had in his "bag of tricks" one of which the Doctor was not aware. While in Nome he had made the acquaintance of a former British seaman, who had cruised Arctic waters in the late eighties, when Japan was disputing the rights of Great Britain and the United States to close the seal fisheries. This man had told him how the gunboats had opened their way through the ice-floes. The idea had appealed to the young skipper. Consequently, on boarding the submarine, he had carried under his arm a package which he handled very carefully, and finally deposited in the very center of a great bale of fur clothing. There it still remained.

"I suppose I might tell him," he said to himself. "But I guess I won't. 'Blessed is he that expecteth nothing,' The trick might not work. I'll wait." He turned to where the mechanics were hard at work adjusting the new propeller.

The repairing had gone on for something over two hours. The water-channel had completely closed. The Doctor was pacing the ice, lost in reflection. Like a flash, there came into Dave's mind a new problem: would the current be content merely to close the channel, or would the ice soon begin to buckle and pile? With an uneasy mind, he urged the workmen to hasten, at the same time keeping an eye on the line of ice where the channel had so lately been.



CHAPTER XVII

"SO THIS IS THE POLE"

Many of the disasters which threaten us in this life pass us by. So it was with the impending disaster of piling ice near the submarine. It did not pile.

But there remained the problem of getting the submarine through that six-foot roof to the water beneath. How was it to be done?

The Doctor still paced back and forth, his unrest written in the furrows of his brow. The jackies, cheerful as ever, worked at their shift of repairing the craft, or, when not at work, played at "duck-on-rock" with chunks of ice. Once a seal appeared in a water-hole. Had he not departed promptly, there would have been fried seal steak and roast seal heart for supper. A lumbering bear, that had evidently never seen a human being before, was not so fortunate. His pelt was added to the trophies of the expedition, and his meat was ground into rather tough hamburger.

Finally the mechanics announced that the submarine was again in perfect condition. Now was the time to try Dave's last trick. Sending three men to stretch a hundred-fathom cable from the submarine, and to anchor its farther end to a great ice-pan, he dropped below to return at once with a package. Cautioning the men not to follow him, he walked away seventy-five yards, bent over the center of an ice-pan, seemingly to adjust certain things and put others in order. This done, he strung a black cord-like affair from his little pile of objects. He then measured off ten paces, and repeated these operations. He then lighted a small gasoline torch, and held the tip of the second cord-like affair to it, then raced to the other for the same purpose. When this was done, he sped away toward his companions. His actions were quickly understood by the watching crew. The furrows on the Doctor's brow had become mere lines. He was smiling hopefully. When Dave tripped over an ice boulder there was a cry of alarm, but he was up in a second, and found shelter with his men. Instinctively everyone ducked. Then came two roaring explosions in quick succession. Bits of splintered ice fell around them like hail. Before the ice fragments had ceased falling, everyone was climbing to the top of the ice-pile. What they saw caused a shout of joy. Where the ice-pan had been was a long stretch of black water that slowly widened until it was quite large enough to float the submarine and allow it to submerge.

At once every man was at his task. The submarine moved slowly toward the water. There followed a dip, a great splash, a wild "Hurrah!" and five minutes later they were once more on their way to the Pole.

But, during this time, Dave's active mind had been working on another problem, which might appear to have been settled, but had not been: the drift of the floe. If the ice did not pile when the floes came together, why was it? It seemed to him there could be but one answer; other water-channels beyond the drift, under which they now traveled, were being closed by counter-currents. And if they closed, one after the other, more rapidly than the advance of the submarine, what was finally to become of the submarine crew? Would they not perish for lack of air? Dave did not share the cheerful mood of the Doctor and the crew; it was his turn to look worried.

Many hours later, his worst fears having been realized, he found himself again in the little room of many wheels and dials. Hour after hour they had shot beneath the varying surface of the floe, but not for one hopeful second had they caught the dark shadow of open water. As near as he could reckon, allowing for the ever-present currents, Dave believed they were nearing the Pole. But his brain was now throbbing as if a hundred trip-hammers were pounding upon it. Moments alone would tell the tale, for the oxygen in the air was exhausted. Already half the crew were unconscious; others were reeling like drunken men. The Doctor had been the first to succumb to the poison of polluted air.

In this crisis Dave was not alone at the wheel. The Eskimo boy, Azazruk, was by his side. It was for just such a time as this that he had taught the bright young native something of the control of the mechanism.

Each wheel of the operating devices was numbered. He had taught the Eskimo a formula by pains-taking repetition.

"If ever the time comes when all are sick, no one can move but you," he had said many times, "and if at that time you see black waters above, act quickly. One—seven—ten—three—five, remember that. One wheel at a time, quickly but surely; one—seven—ten—three—five."

"One—seven—ten—three—five," the Eskimo boy had faithfully repeated after him, and rolled his eyes half in amusement and half in terror.

"Wheel one is for rise, seven for fans, ten to stop, three to lift the outer-hatch, five the inner-hatch," Dave had explained. "But you only need to remember one—seven—ten—three—five."

Somehow, Dave had come to believe that this hardy young Alaskan, reared as he had been, under perfect conditions of food, air, light and exercise, could, if the test ever came, survive his civilized companions.

Now, as he reeled and a great wave of dizzy sickness came over him, while he sank to the floor, Dave was glad he had taught Azazruk; for the boy, with a strange, strained look of terror in his eye, stood still at the wheel.

Dimly he felt, rather than saw, a dark shadow pass over them. As in a dream he whispered the magic formula:

"One—seven—ten—three—five."

Faintly he heard the grind of the wheels, felt the fan's breath on his cheek, then all was lost in unconsciousness.

* * * * *

After ten solid hours of sleep the airplane party awoke to find their dogs whining and pawing at the entrance to their shelter.

"Guess they're hungry," said Barney, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "Now if we could only locate a seal in some water-hole, it would help out our scanty supply of food."

"Suppose we try," said Bruce, slipping into his skin garments and looking to his rifle.

"All right," said Barney, and without delay they were hurrying to a pressure ridge of ice from whose top they might hope to locate the nearest water-lead. This took them some distance from their camp, but since the air was still and the moon flooded everything with light as of day, this did not worry them.

They had reached the height, and were scanning the long lead of water something like a mile to the left of them, when Bruce gave a cry of surprise, and, pointing to the south end of the lead, exclaimed:

"What's that immense black thing rising from the water? Can't be a whale up here, can it?"

"Impossible! And, look! There's something rising from the center of it! It can't be—yes—it is! It's the submarine!"

Barney tumbled from the ice ridge and went sprinting away over the ice. His boyhood pal, Dave Tower, was on that submarine.

With greater deliberation, Bruce attracted the attention of the Major. Together they hurried after their companion.

The sight that met their eyes as they reached the edge of the water-channel filled them with consternation. The Eskimo boy and Barney were hurriedly carrying limp, motionless forms from the submarine into the outer air.

Their worst fears were groundless, however, for after two hours of faithful work they restored the last one of the crew to consciousness. The last to recover was the Doctor.

"Which goes to prove," smiled Dave, "that when you most need a doctor, that's the time he's most likely to be sick."

There was a moment of joyful reunion between the two pals, Barney and Dave. As for the explorers, after the danger had passed, they seemed to take little notice of one another.

The Doctor soon was able to rise unsteadily, and, supported by two of his men, he dragged himself back and forth across the ice. When, at last, he had full possession of his faculties, he suddenly darted into the submarine, reappearing a moment later with instruments.

At sight of these, the Major's attention once more turned to the task he had left. With backs turned, not twenty yards apart, the two great rivals began taking observations. Carefully they spread lines of mercury for an artificial horizon, and painstakingly adjusting their instruments, began to take readings. Then, turning to their nautical almanacs, they figured. For some time an awed silence fell on the little group. Presently the two men rose, facing one another. Smiles played about their lips. For a second they stood thus, then starting toward each other, they extended hands for a clasp—the grip of a mutual admiration.

"Gentlemen," said the Major, the huskiness in his voice betraying his emotion, "we are now within five miles of the Pole, and that is as close an observation as any man can hope to make."

"Might as well call it the Pole," smiled the Doctor. "I make it three miles."

For a time silence again reigned, then it was Dave who spoke.

"So this is the Pole!" he exclaimed. "Well, then, it's time for a bit of jazz. Bring on your instruments of torture."

Jazz always was imperfect music, and here, with untutored musicians and rude instruments, it was imperfection itself; but it is doubtful if any music ever soothed unstrung nerves as did this bit of jazz that rent the midnight silence at the top of the world.

The applause which followed awakened echoes among the ice-piles, and sent a lone doveky away into the shadows.

"Well," said the Doctor, as the echoes of the last burst of jazz died away, "Major, I suppose we are to have the pleasure of your company on our return journey. Am I right?"

"I am afraid so," the Major smiled a bit wanly. "Guess our plane is at last beyond repair."

"But I say," ejaculated Barney, "you can stow the remains of our plane somewhere below, can't you?"

"Why—er—yes," smiled the Doctor. "We've considerable space now, since using the fuel and food. But why freight the junk? What's the grand idea?"

"I think we can get a bunch of sled-timber and canvas from the whalers at Point Barrow and rig her up again."

"Why? You'll be welcome to come with us all the way."

"Bruce here, and I," began Barney, and Bruce grinned at the mention of his name, "have a very special mission that takes us cross-country rather than by water. Much as we should like to accept your kind invitation, our mission makes the other route imperative, if it is at all possible to take it."

He told them the story of La Vaune, of Timmie and the ancient pay-roll.

"That being the case," agreed the Doctor, "I shall be glad to assist you by freighting your plane to Point Barrow, and I now release my entire crew to help you in demounting it and bringing it to the submarine."

As the gobs joined the two young aviators in a wild race across the ice-floes, with Jarvis straining after them, the Major turned a smiling face toward the Doctor, as he remarked:

"As fine a bunch as I ever saw."

"You're right," said the Doctor, "and deserving of a rich reward."

"Speaking of rewards," said the Major quickly, "how about that ten thousand which comes to some of us? I had promised it to my boys, had I won."

"And I the same," smiled the Doctor.

"The puzzle is, who's won!"

"Suppose we split, fifty-fifty, and, following our original plan, each give his share to his boys."

"Splendid! Just the right thing!" exclaimed the Major.

"It's a go!" The Doctor grasped the Major's hand.

And this was the glad news that awaited the men as they returned, some dragging poles, some carrying rolls of canvas, while others urged, pushed and pulled at the dog-team drawing a sled on which was loaded the Liberty motor. To the aviators was to go five thousand dollars; to the jackies, five thousand.

"Nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Bruce indignantly.

"I should say nix!" echoed Barney.

"Why, what could be fairer?" said the Doctor, a puzzled look on his face.

"Why," Barney declared, feeling sure he was also speaking for his partner; "we each get two thousand five hundred, and your men who have worked as hard and risked as much, each get a fraction of that sum. I say, nothing doing. Share and share alike, man for man, them's my sentiments. Get out your pencil and see how many times ten goes in ten thousand. A thousand times? A thousand apiece, that's something like! Enough to have a whale of a good time on, or buy a farm. Pay your money and take your choice. Step up, gents, and try your luck!"

When the gobs realized that this wild harangue meant that the aviators wished to split the whole reward with them, they were at first urgent in protest, and, when this availed them nothing, they went wild with cheers for the true sports of the aviation department.

Of course this all called for another burst of jazz, after which came the work of packing away the parts of the airplane, in which task the gobs showed an enthusiasm which told better than shouts what they thought of the young aviators.

After the stars and stripes had been planted on a high ice-pinnacle, a rather solemn supper was eaten in the lee of a giant ice-cake. Then, with the jazz band playing "Star Spangled Banner," the submarine sank and the homeward journey was begun.

A fortunate voyage brought them to Point Barrow in sixty-eight hours. There the aviators found the supplies they needed, and began at once preparing for the overland trip. The Doctor and the Major decided to proceed down the coast by dog-team to Cape Prince of Wales, where they would catch the first boat in the Spring. The submarine crew were put "on their own" and instructed to follow down the coast in a safe and leisurely fashion, to report their arrival at the naval station in Seattle.

Bruce and Barney succeeded in rigging out the plane in a very satisfactory manner, and one day in early Spring they again alighted in Timmie's stubble, much to the joy of the entire family. And a few days later they made a landing in the old athletic field of Brandon college, where a very happy girl, who had been watching the plane with a wistful eye, came rushing out to meet them.

When Bruce pressed into her hand a package, and told her of its contents, tears came to her eyes—tears of joy that her struggles were over, but also tears of thankfulness for the safe return of those who had done so much for her.

The submarine crew arrived in Seattle in due time. There, before they separated for a long leave, which was sure to be followed by honorable discharge, five of them agreed to pool their share of the prize money to charter a craft, preferably a submarine, and go in search of the treasure city of Siberia. There was talk, too, of an attempt to induce Bruce and Barney to join them on the expedition, as an airplane, which could be stowed in the submarine when not in use, would be of inestimable service to them.

Bruce and Barney in due time collected the reward offered for the destruction of the outlaw wireless station.

As for the Major and the Doctor, there is still much speculation in many quarters as to their identity. And, as for myself, I am not able to add any information on the subject.

* * * * *

The solving of the mystery of the City of Gold was, at last, left to David Tower and Jarvis. The story of this adventure will be told in the next volume of the Snell Mystery Stories for Boys series which will be entitled "Panther-Eye."

THE END