In a frenzy of alarm Raynor seized his tin lunch box from his pocket and hurled it with all his force in the face of the bear. One of the sharp corners struck it fairly on the nose and brought the blood. But it did not stop the creature’s progress.
On the contrary, it enraged it. Shaking its head from the pain, the bear emitted a thunderous roar of rage and scrambled up faster than ever. The scrape of its claws, like steel chisels, against the ice, was horribly suggestive. Raynor could almost feel its hot breath, when something entirely unexpected happened.
A sudden shift to get further away from the bear resulted in the lad losing his footing on the steep and slippery surface of the berg.
Like a stone from a sling he shot down the glassy side with the speed of the wind. Ahead of him was green water but he was powerless to check himself.
Splash! The lad slid into the water, which closed over him in a flash. But in a second he was on the surface again and striking out. Not far from him was a large floe, one of the numerous ones that belted the big berg. With some difficulty he clambered upon this. He had hardly gained its surface when a roar made him look round. The polar bear was not going to be cheated of its prey in that way.
To his horror, Raynor saw the hunger-maddened creature leaping toward him across the ice floes. In a few minutes it would be upon him. Those cruel jaws would be crushing and tearing his flesh. The lad turned sick and faint and reeled as if about to fall. But he was brought sharply back to his senses.
Bang!
A rifle cracked and the bear, in a pool of crimson, sank on the floe it was about to leap from. The next instant the phenomenon was explained. Not far off lay a handsome, yacht-like looking schooner with her sails aback.
The rifle shot that had saved Raynor’s life had been fired from her deck. He could see the marksman, a tall, bearded fellow, lowering his rifle on which the light glinted.
Then Raynor saw a boat being lowered from the stern davits. Four oarsmen made the light craft fairly skim over the waves toward him. In the stern sheets of the boat the man who had fired the lucky shot stood up handling the tiller. The light gleamed in his great bronze beard and made it shine like copper. His huge build and his attitude at the helm made him look like a Viking of old.