Barney worked the wheel like a veteran ice boatman, and kept his eyes open for pitfalls filled with snow and crevices that could trip the boat or wedge the runners.
There were many openings among the ice cliffs, and as the Ranger dashed up to one of them the cyclone was only a short distance astern of her.
“Take that narrow gorge,” cried Frank.
“Shure, it may not go in all ther way,” expostulated Barney.
“True; but it will afford us most protection.”
“Jist as you say, me bye.”
And into it dashed the ice boat like lightning.
The pass was winding, and the bottom lumpy, and Barney grasped the levers with one hand.
All the rest went out to haul down the sails.
Around a curve swept the Ranger, as the canvas fluttered down, and Barney gave utterance to a startled exclamation, and hastily cut out the current, for the pass terminated in a cul-de-sac.