“Not more than an hour, I’ll bet,” said Dick.
Both boys looked up and scanned the surrounding vicinity. They were on a long, ice-caked slope strewn with boulders, which led down to shore ice. In the distance was open sea water, appearing almost black due to the dim sunlight. There was no sign of life in evidence.
“Let’s try to track him,” Dick suggested.
“Do you think these rifles are of big enough caliber to kill a polar bear?” Sandy asked, as they began searching for more tracks.
“Yes, that .32 Special of yours and my 45.20 ought to do the trick easily enough. Remember, try to hit him in the soft spot under his ears, or right behind the shoulders.”
The bear tracks were hard to follow since at times they led over hard ice, or boulders, but now and again the huge animal had stepped in soft snow or loose soil and left signs of his passage.
For nearly a quarter of an hour they followed the trail along the slope. It finally led them to shore ice, which had been heaped up in huge mounds by the ocean waves during some Arctic storm.
“We’ve got to go slow here,” cautioned Dick. “The bear may pop out from behind any of these piles of ice. He’s probably hunting seals or fish out at the edge of the water.”
Scarcely had Dick spoken when there sounded a faint dog-like bark, and a puppyish whine.
“Did you hear that, Sandy!” exclaimed Dick. “Those sounds were made by seals. There must be a small herd of them near here.”