“Are you hurt?” called Sandy anxiously, as Dick crawled out of the snow, sat up and began shaking himself.
“No, but I’ve got my parka full of snow,” Dick called back, “and it’s not a very pleasant feeling with melted snow trickling down your chest.”
The policemen had stopped upon seeing Dick’s accident, and they now waited until he had climbed back up the slippery slope before they went on.
Dick was not much the worse for the spill in the snow, since the heat of his body under the warm clothing soon dried up the snow that had seeped in. He forgot the accident in anticipation of the excitement ahead, for at any moment all hands expected to sight the dog team of Fred Mistak.
A breeze had sprung up, blowing in their faces, and they all could feel the nearness of the sea by the dampness in the air. Then, suddenly, they rounded a huge heap of snow-covered ice to come upon a vast bay of open water and a most discouraging sight. A mile out to sea, in native boats, they could see their quarry vanishing toward a snow-capped, rocky island.
Even as they watched they saw one tiny figure raise up and wave a defiant hand at them.
“Well, he’s flown the coop this time,” said Corporal McCarthy through his teeth, “but we’re not beaten yet—not by a long shot. Sloan, bring Sipsa here.”
Dick and Sandy followed the Constable and the Eskimo guide to Corporal McCarthy’s side.
“Tell Sipsa we must get Eskimo boats immediately,” was the policeman’s command. “Enough boats to carry all of us along with our provisions, dogs, and sledges.”
When Sloan had explained this to Sipsa, the Eskimo shook his head at first, but finally seemed to offer some encouragement.