“Tired doesn’t fit it,” answered Chet, with a sickly grin. “I am next-door to being utterly played out.”
“Perhaps I had better leave you two boys behind, while Professor Jeffer and myself, with one sledge, make the final dash.”
“No; now I’ve come so far I’m going to stick it out,” answered Chet, grittily.
“And so am I,” added Andy. “I guess we’ll feel better after a good sleep,” he went on, hopefully.
A few minutes later all sank into a profound slumber, from which they did not awaken until well in the morning. Then the barking of the dogs and the shouting of one of the Esquimaux made them leap up and crawl outside.
“Olalola says the wind has died down,” said Barwell Dawson. “We may as well make the most of it.”
A hasty breakfast was prepared, and inside of half an hour they were again on the way, toiling over ice that was rough in the extreme. They pushed on steadily until noon, when, it being bright sunlight, Professor Jeffer took another observation.
“One hundred and sixteen miles more,” he said, after his calculations were complete. “We are gradually lessening the distance! We shall make it after all!” And his face showed his enthusiasm. To such a scientist as the professor, gaining the Pole meant far more than it did to the boys.
In the middle of the afternoon came another setback. Another lead came into view, broad, and with the water flowing swiftly. At this the Esquimaux shook their heads dismally.
“We cannot go over that,” said one, in his native tongue.