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.