It was bitterly cold, but to the north the famous “Lights” flashed and burned against the sky, shedding a softly luminous radiance on the white covering of the earth.
“Ugh!” shivered Jack under his breath, “isn’t it cold, though!”
“Hoot!” grunted Sandy disgustedly, “if it hadna’ been for you and your false alarms, we might ha’ been in our beds the noo’ instead of trapsing around oot here like a lot of gloom-croons.”
“Hush!” breathed Tom impatiently; “what’s the matter with you fellows? Can’t you move quietly?”
“Oh, aye!” rejoined Sandy. “In my opeenion, yon noise was nought but a pack o’ bogles.”
“Then they’re the first ghosts I ever heard of that carried hatchets,” retorted Tom sharply, although in a low whisper. “Hark at that!”
They all paused just within the doorway of the Yukon Rover’s deck-house, into which they had withdrawn, and listened intently.
Over against the hill there could be made out in the faint glow of the Northern Lights a number of dark blotches sharply outlined by their white background. These blotches they knew were the fox cages. In other words, the “safes” containing the four-footed wealth they had been set to guard.
“Can you see anything?” asked Jack under his breath.
“I’m not sure,—just a minute,—yes! Look there!”