“We must be way out of the course,” Sandy said, discouraged.
Dick’s spirits fell also, then when he was about to give up shouting, he caught the sound of a voice again.
“There—that’s Constable Sloan,” Dick said tensely.
“But it’s funny—he seems to be on the left of us,” Sandy came back.
They listened again, often shouting together. This time they were amazed to hear the faint call from slightly to the right and ahead.
“That must be Corporal McCarthy,” Dick hazarded.
“No, I think it sounded like Constable Sloan,” Sandy disagreed. “But how could he get over on the right so soon?”
“It’s the fog, I guess,” Dick returned. “The sounds are deceiving. Anyway, we’re certain this floe on our right is between us and the island. We’ll have to keep on working ahead until we can get around it.”
“You know what I think, Dick?” Sandy’s voice was exceedingly sober.
“Well, what do you think? I’m at my wit’s end myself.”