It did not take Sandy long to see that Dick was right. Alone, with a dead seal, upon a large ice floe, each second increased their peril as they floated farther away from shore. Death by freezing might be their lot, for without shelter they could not hope to weather a polar storm. Even if they were fortunate in experiencing mild weather, they would eventually starve.
In a dejected mood the two boys stood watching the bleak shore line that now seemed so warm and friendly since they had been cut off from it.
“Do you notice the current is carrying us westward as well as north?” Dick spoke up presently.
“No, but I can see you’re right,” rejoined Sandy. “But what’s the difference?”
“If we keep drifting at this angle, we’ll sight our camp and maybe we can signal Toma.”
Sandy’s face brightened for an instant, then he gave in again to his former forebodings. “Toma can’t do anything for us,” he said.
“Maybe not right away. At least he’ll know what has happened to us, and can notify the policemen when they return.”
Sandy realized the wisdom in Dick’s words, and sat down to watch for the first sign of their camp.
The floe slowly turned as it was carried along with the ocean current, and the boys were forced to change their position frequently in order to stay on the side nearest the shore. And since their huge raft was floating out to sea as well as westward past the camp site, it became a problem as to whether they would not be too far away to signal Toma when that moment came.
Tensely they waited. For twenty minutes the floe forged along with its human cargo before Dick suddenly gave a glad shout. At a distance of about half a mile, the igloos of their camp appeared, surrounded by the tiny dark dots which represented the sledges and other dunnage. But there was no sign of life.