It was a perilous situation to be in, and the youths realized it fully, as did Mr. Dawson. At any moment the foxes might make a concerted attack, and what could three persons do against ninety or more of such beasts?
But now it was growing lighter, for which those in the hut were thankful. As the glow of the morning sun shone in the sky, Andy set up a loud shout and flung a fair-sized cake of ice at the foxes. The ice went gliding along, and struck one fox in the forelegs, wounding him severely.
“Hurrah! why didn’t we think of that before!” cried Chet.
“A good idea,” put in Barwell Dawson. “We’ll treat them as if they were ten-pins!”
Some loose ice was handy, and taking aim at the foxes, they sent piece after piece bowling over the icy surface on which they stood. The animals had again gathered in a pack, so they could not be missed. If one leaped out of the way, the chunk of ice hit the next, and soon there were howls of pain from several. Then the foxes retreated, and when Chet fired another shot, they suddenly turned tail, and trotted off, around a distant hill and out of sight.
“They didn’t like the ice and the daylight,” said Barwell Dawson. “I doubt if they come back very soon. They may try it again tonight, but we’ll be in camp by that time.”
Again they took up the march for camp, dragging the bear behind them as before. Going was fairly easy, and dragging the bear over the smooth surface was not much work, but whether they were heading just right was a question. Many times Barwell Dawson tried to get his bearings, but without success.
“I think I’ll have to climb yonder hill and take a look around,” said he, when the sun was fairly high. “We ought to be able to locate the camp from there.”
“We’ll go along,” said Andy, who did not care to be left alone in such a field of desolation.
“Yes, I would like to take a look around myself—just to see how the land—or, rather, ice—lies,” added his chum.