At first the narwhal seemed to be headed at an angle that would bring him past Sandy’s kayack across the prow at a distance of about ten yards, close enough for a good cast with the harpoon. But, less than a hundred yards from Sandy’s kayack, the big mammal changed course slightly, and with a hoarse shout of dismay, Dick saw that if the narwhal kept on he would ram Sandy’s kayack squarely in the middle.
“Get out of the way!” shouted Dick frantically.
But Sandy was already making all haste with his paddle, and so well did he handle his kayack that the rushing sea-giant failed to run him down by several inches. As the big body whizzed by, Sandy made a quick throw with his harpoon, but missed, his line dropping over Dick’s taut one, narrowly escaping entanglement as Dick’s kayack collided with it.
“Hang on, Dick!” Sandy shouted as his chum shot past him. “You’re headed straight toward Sipsa and the other hunters.”
Dick had already foreseen this and his hopes were rising when, without any warning whatsoever, the narwhal dived. Had he gone far down Dick would, no doubt, have been dragged under water and drowned before he could slash free the harpoon line. As it was, the narwhal dived up and down alternately, drawing the prow of the kayack under water with a rush and bringing it up again with giddy speed.
Choking and gasping as the icy water trickled into his parka above the waterproof covering on the kayack, Dick had almost given up hope while blindly slashing at the harpoon line, when the narwhal ceased diving and began darting this way and that over the surface of the water. Desisting in his attempts to sever the line, Dick saw that the Eskimo hunters were paddling fast toward him and that they would soon reach a point where their harpoons could finish the narwhal.
Completely maddened by the pain of his wound, and the constant drag of the kayack, the narwhal seemed to have lost all fear of man, for when his short-sighted eyes caught sight of the Eskimo hunters he made straight toward them, his great mouth wide open and revealing a frightful toothless cavern under the long sword-like tusk.
But the hunters did not give way save to give the narwhal room to pass between them. Seven harpoons impaled the narwhal as he dashed in among the kayacks, and his speed was lessened by half. Soon the monster was floundering about in a welter of blood, growing weaker and weaker.
As soon as the Eskimos had the situation well in hand, Dick cut away his harpoon line and made all haste to paddle to shore. The icy water that had splashed into his shirt through his hood was already numbing him with cold. Before he got to shore his nose lost all sense of feeling, then suffered a burning sensation as if it had come in contact with a hot iron. Dick knew then that he had frozen his nose. Beaching the kayack, he grabbed up his mittens full of snow and buried his face in this frost absorbing application as he ran for the igloo and an oil stove.
A half hour later Sandy burst through the round door of their igloo to find his chum nursing a badly frosted face. Dick’s nose and cheeks were as white as tallow and he was writhing with pain as the blood commenced to circulate again in the frozen tissues.