Mr. Sturritt shook his head. I think he seldom tasted liquors.
“I—er—I have a few of the brown lozenges,” he explained. “They are very stim—that is—sustaining during cold, as you remember.”
“What’s that ahead, Nick?” Gale asked suddenly.
There was an outline in the light over our bow that stopped all tendency to mirth. It was that of a canoe, and presently when we swept by it, we got a glimpse of a white, dead face within.
Silently Gale once more extended toward Mr. Sturritt the depleted flask. This time he did not refuse.
XXXVII.
THE RISING TIDE.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when we noticed that the ceiling seemed to be drawing nearer to our heads. The change was very gradual and at first we could not be sure. Then Gale said:
“It’s getting closer, boys—there’s no doubt of it. We’re probably down to tide-water, and I believe we’re hitting it just about right—it can’t fill up along here.”
We steered the boat toward the side of the passage and examined the ice closely as we passed. Then he indicated a faint line about three feet above us.
“There’s where it gets to, here,” he said; “of course it gets higher farther down. If it gets too high, well——”