As they ate, this advance crew went ahead with their planning of how they could utilize the great tunnel to house the airship.
“We can drop the ice anchor out there on the slope,” said Captain Jan between hearty bites of a thick meat sandwich. “Then all hands can man the drag ropes and with a little help from the motor, we ought to be able to ease the Nardak into this ready-made hangar as pretty as you please.”
“And some of the ice pillars will do for anchor posts to knot the ropes a—Hi, what’s that?” The big fur-clad fellow who spoke cocked an eye upward.
Suddenly zooming almost over their heads, flapping its long wings and quavering its hoarse hooting call, a great white cliff-owl departed indignantly, his raucous voice hurling back protest to these invaders of his icy domain.
“Umph!” grunted Sanderson. “Looks like he’s serving notice on us that this house is already taken. Don’t you reckon we’d better step up the street to the real estate agent in the next block and see what he’s got in the way of nice Arctic mansions and cottages to offer us.”
Sanderson’s gay banter choked off in a sputter, and a wild look came into his eyes.
A sound swept, through the cave, the long-drawn, shivery “wha-o-o-o-ah!” of the wolf-pack trailing meat.
Another moment, and the killer pack surged into view, speeding out of the depths of the cave itself.
The men screamed and leaped for the cavern walls, clambering madly up, clinging grimly to ice ledge and ice stalactite, praying that they would bear human weight.