“Skeny, old lad!” he cried with a sob, “and I thought I was quite left.”
A sharp bark was the response, and in his delight the dog butted at him, seized his arm in his teeth, and playfully worried it.
The next minute Steve rose to his feet, and, hardly knowing what he was doing, dragged the canvas doorway open, and staggered out of the darkness and down the snow steps into what looked once more a world of silvery light; for the moon was at the full, and it seemed nearly as light as day. In his delight the dog threw himself on his side to force a way through the snow, and then turned over to repeat the performance, and leap and race round his master, who stood shading his eyes from the light, and staring before him at something misty and spectral-looking in the distance. Finally the dog burst into a joyous peal of barking at the objects which had struck his master, and there came the sharp report of a gun, followed by a rolling volley of echoes.
“Is this dreaming? Am I getting worse?” thought Steve; and at that moment there came a loud “Ahoy!”
“Some one there!—there in that terrible solitude! Then it must be help.”
The excitement and reaction were too much. Steve strove to shout again; but the words failed him, and he only uttered a hoarse cry. But the dog responded bravely and loudly it seemed to the boy at first, then faintly and more faintly, while the moonlight was dim, and then all dark, for he had sunk insensible upon the snow.
When he opened his eyes Skene was standing with his fore paws upon his chest, and nearly a dozen men in heavy furs stood about him, while one white-haired, burly-looking personage, who was supporting him, said:
“Come, my lad, better? Where are your friends? in the ship?”
“Uncle!” was all that Steve could pant out, for he recognised the voice that he had not heard for a couple of years.