“The cove or bust,” Alex exclaimed, as he threw the boat hook up on the cabin top. “This spearing off ice floes is like bobbing for apples, only more so. One just gets wet and tired without getting any apples.”
“All right,” Clay agreed. “Pick out the smoothest course you can, Case, and hold her to it.”
He went back to the motor and slowly shoved the timer ahead. The Rambler, which before had been barely moving, suddenly gathered speed and leaped forward at the ice field ahead. She struck with a crash, and, scarcely pausing, darted forward to meet the next, leaving behind a rapidly closing wake filled with shattered ice.
Clay, leaning out of her motor hold, grinned with delight. “She eats them, eats them up alive,” he exulted.
But it was a dearly bought victory for the little boat, for when at last she reached the cove, her bow post was a mass of splinters, while long streamers of wood hung from her bruised sides, and showed where the sharp ice had torn streaks out of her oak planking.
“Another victory like that would be a defeat,” remarked Case, as from the shore he viewed her wrecked appearance.
A portion of the brief Arctic day remained, and it’s dim twilight glow was too precious to be wasted. Alex cut down a dead cottonwood tree and chopped it up for the Yukon stove, which they had bought at Dawson, on the Kid’s advice. While he was thus engaged, Ike, leaving Abe to look out for the cooking supper, came on deck to render his assistance. A thick layer of spruce boughs were cut and laid ahead of the boat, and, by use of rollers and block and tackle, the three managed to pull the Rambler out on her springy bed.
“That will help to keep her warmer inside in winter,” Clay said with satisfaction. “We could never have kept her warm with her bottom resting on the ice. Now the next thing is to fix up the sides and cabin top so as to protect them from the stinging cold.”
Long poles were cut and placed rafterwise from the peak of the pitched cabin roof to the ground. On these rafters they piled layer upon layer of small spruce boughs and banked up around the sides with a generous supply of the fragrant limbs. It was almost dark when their task was completed and they stood back and viewed the result with satisfaction. “A house inside a house,” Case said. “All it needs is a good fall of snow to fill up the chinks and we will be as snug as a bug in a rug.”
They were all tired, cold, and hungry and it was a joy to descend into the brightly lit cabin where a merry fire crackled in the Yukon stove and a savory supper fresh from the fire, steamed on the table.