“Ran away on you?” inquired Billy.
“He means off of them,” said the Equine Ox. “He’s dreadfully ungrammatical.”
“Don’t you call me names,” said the conductor threateningly.
“Please don’t quarrel,” said Billy. “The Evening Star is in that glacier over yonder, and we must get her out of it or she’ll freeze to death.”
“Then let’s,” said the motorman.
Billy excitedly hurried to the glacier, and the others followed as fast as they could.
It was plain that somebody was confined within its green depths, for a form could be distinctly seen by the whole party, who flattened their noses against the cliff-like side of the glacier and gazed eagerly into it.
“I think you had better begin to batter in the ice with your horns,” said the motorman, “and we’ll follow you up and throw out the loose ice.”
The Equine Ox, thus addressed, fell energetically to work and soon had broken a fair-sized hole in the ice wall.
Into it dashed the conductor and the motorman, and they threw out the fragments of ice broken off by the sharp horns, while Billy, unable to do anything or to find any place to work at all, stood and wrung his hands in impatience.