“Here we go!” yelled Tommy. “Hold everything!” And at that instant the big boat struck the tilted ice-cake, fairly leaped into the air, and a second later landed with a splintering crash on the farther side of the crack.
“Zowie!” yelped Dick. “That loosened every tooth in my head!”
“We’re lucky it didn’t take the mast out of her,” answered Ned. “Now keep a sharp lookout ahead. I’m going to drive her.”
For the next twenty miles the Frost King tore along at a speed that almost forced the breath from the bodies of her crew. The wind was increasing in strength, and in some of the sharper gusts it would lift the windward shoe clear off the ice, dropping it again with a jolt that caused the mast to sway and buckle dangerously.
“It’s up to you to stop that, Fatty,” shouted Ned and, obedient to orders, Tommy Beals crept out along the cross-plank till his ample weight reposed at the extreme outer end, where he held tightly to the wire shrouds.
With this extra ballast to windward, the boat held to the ice much better and showed a considerable increase in speed, such that very soon Dick pointed to a white plume of steam which showed against the dark stretch of woodland far ahead.
“She’s blowing for some crossing,” shouted Ned, above the whistle of the wind. “We’re picking up on her but she’s got a big lead.”
The early winter twilight soon closed down, making it difficult to distinguish objects a hundred yards ahead. The green and red lights of a railroad switch-tower swept past, and a moment later Dick sighted the rear lights of the train. At the same moment a second plume of steam appeared and the faint scream of a distant whistle reached their ears. Foot by foot the lead was cut down till once again the Frost King ran neck and neck with the big locomotive. A bobbing red lantern saluted them from the window of the cab and then, as the express slackened in the outlying suburbs of the city, the ice-boat shot ahead and in a few minutes was rounding the breakwater that protects Cleveland’s waterfront.
“Here we are!” announced Ned, as he brought the boat into the wind. “We’ve beat the express by five minutes.”
The man in the fur coat rose stiffly from his place beside the mast. “All right,” he replied gruffly. “Here’s your money,” and peeling a ten-dollar bill from his roll, he handed it to Ned and hurried away across the ice, holding the heavy valise beneath his arm.