With this in mind they passed the boulders and came out on a broad, snow-covered tundra stretching for several miles inland from the sea and ending abruptly some miles south in towering walls of ice that marked the position of the glacier.
Driving southwest, the three boys began the long trek across the tundra, hoping they might soon sight the abandoned igloos indicated on the map as the next landmark.
But two hours of steady mushing failed to raise anything resembling a habitation. The tundra still stretched monotonously ahead of them, the countless acres of snow glaring in their eyes as it reflected the sun’s rays.
Dick called a halt and the three boys gathered about the sledge, permitting the dogs to lie down and rest their tired legs.
“We’ll have to use our heads now,” said Dick. “Corporal Thalman has either underestimated the distance from the point of his capture to the igloos, or else we’re traveling in the wrong direction.”
“Well, I’d say,” put in Sandy, “that no Eskimo would build an igloo out on this level plain where it would catch the full force of all the storms that blew down from the pole.”
“You’re right, Sandy,” announced Dick. “Those igloos must have been built where there was some sort of wind break. Suppose we swing around due south until we get into the rough country on the outskirts of the glacier.”
“That seems to be about the best plan,” Sandy rejoined. “It’s a cinch there’s nothing north of us as far as the sea.”
“Me no savvy,” Toma muttered, and Dick promised to explain the map more thoroughly when they pitched camp.
The distance to the glacier was deceiving. It was fully an hour after they changed their course before they struck the first break in the tundra and began to climb upward along the ravine down the trough of which the glacier had flung out a finger centuries before.