“We may be able to outstrip it in a race,” said Frank.
“It’s a-gainin’ on us now.”
“We’ll hoist the sails.”
“Can’t we rise in ther air an’ escape it?”
“No; don’t you see that it would reach us before we got above it?”
“Thrue for you, Misther Frank.”
The inventor dashed out on deck again, where Pomp and the doctor then were swiftly unfurling the sails.
Lending them his assistance, Frank quickly succeeded in getting the canvas up, and as there was a beam wind they hauled around the braces and stays, and the speed of the Ranger was materially increased.
She was now flying over the ice with all the speed at her command, and made a mile a minute.
The terrible cyclone was roaring on in her wake, its sable cloud spreading over a large tract of territory.