At the Eskimo’s sharp cry of warning they settled down, however, and made themselves as comfortable as possible for the last stage of the journey before them.
It was almost two hours before the storm overtook them. But then it seemed intent on making up for lost time. It came not in a gentle fall of feathery flakes, but in a driving sheet of sleet that beat into their faces mercilessly, blinding them.
They said nothing, just ducking their heads to avoid the worst of the storm’s fury, wondering if Kapje would dare to go on in the face of it.
That question was answered sooner than they expected.
They had been making what progress they could in the teeth of the gale for some fifteen or twenty minutes when the older Eskimo swung in sharply toward the blurred outline of the shore.
The second canoe followed, and in a moment more they were staggering, half-blinded and half-frozen, up the slippery, snowy bank.
Kapje was shouting something above the noise of the wind, and the boys came close to him to hear what he was saying.
They finally made out that he had decided to spend the night there. It was impossible to make any headway against the raging storm.
In this last statement the boys heartily agreed with him, but they were dismayed, nevertheless, at the thought of spending the night in that wild, uninhabitable spot.
It was not long, however, before they learned something of the genius of the Eskimo when it comes to the making of an igloo.