At some distance from the Eskimo igloos, a huge, solid snowdrift was located. A number of blocks were cut out of this, leaving a hollow hole, perfectly round. The blocks that had been removed were then shaped and fitted with knives and built up over the cavity in the drift, formulating part of the walls and the roof. Spaces were left for a small entrance and for two windows, whose panes were formed by pouring melted snow water over the open spaces. In the intensely cold temperature the water froze as it dripped, the icicles finally joining to make an opaque windowpane, crude but serviceable.
It was time to retire when Dick and Sandy finally moved into the igloo, and, crawling into their warm sleeping bags, prepared to pass their first night under the roof of one of the finest residences known to the people of the great polar ice cap.
But sleep was slow in coming to them in their unusual surroundings, and presently they crawled out again and, to put in the time, tried broiling musk-ox and walrus steaks over the oil heater. The musk-ox was quite tasty, if a bit strong from improper handling, but they scarcely could stomach the bitter, greasy walrus meat. Had the boys known what was in store for them—that some day soon they would think walrus almost as delicious as roast chicken, they might not have looked upon their future adventures in the polar region with such eagerness. But, as the saying goes, “What they did not know did not hurt them.”
The two policemen, together with Toma, whose leg wound was troubling him only a little, came in to inspect the finished igloo before they again rolled into their sleeping bags and one and all pronounced it an ideal abode for cold weather. Before the visitors went out again, they vowed that the next time they camped for any length of time they should live Eskimo style.
Dick asked several pointed questions regarding what the policemen intended doing now that they had reached the northern coast, but both the Corporal and the Constable were evasive. Dick was not the sort of lad who became meddlesome or troublesomely inquisitive, so he went no further. When Sandy and he were again alone, they discussed the approach of the polar winter, wondering how they would weather it and admiring that heroic explorer of the past who had gone so far as to reach the north pole, making the name of Robert Peary famous for all time.
A little later, when they had turned out their stove, preparatory to crawling into their sleeping bags, they became aware how difficult it was to sleep with the yellow radiance of the sun still pervading the inside of the igloo. The windows were not clear enough for the light to be bright, but, nevertheless, the absence of darkness made them so restless, they decided to get up and go outside.
They found the sun hanging low over the horizon, a pale ball of yellow, pouring its rays over the bleak and desolate northland.
“How strange it seems!” cried Dick. “Just think—at Fort Good Faith it’s nice and dark and maybe the moon is up. I wonder what the folks at home would say if they knew we were at this very minute seeing the midnight sun.”
“It hardly seems possible we’re a thousand miles farther north than we’ve ever been,” Sandy spoke awedly.
But tired muscles and the intense cold soon made their eyes heavy, and in spite of the sun they went back to their sleeping bags.