"Firing our guns! They may hear them in camp and come after us."
"That's so. Here goes!"
Jerry pointed his rifle in the air and pulled the trigger. The report, coming in that great stillness, sounded like a clap of thunder.
"We'll take turns at it, firing every five minutes, as near as we can judge," said Fred. "That ought to tell them something is wrong with us."
They put this plan into operation, walking slowly on in the intervals of firing as nearly in the direction of the camp as they could judge. They could see absolutely nothing save a sort of haze in front of their eyes, and, as the cold continued to increase, they knew the sun must have gone down.
"Can you see the Northern Lights?" asked Jerry.
"No. Can you?"
"Not a thing. Go on, it's your turn to shoot."
Following the report of Fred's gun they listened intently for an answering shot. None came. For an hour longer they walked on, firing by turns.
"I have only three more cartridges left," announced Jerry at length.