Dick came to with a start.
“No,” he mumbled weakly.
“Toma one mile down river,” continued the voice. “Him stuck in ice with huskies. Mebbe no get sled out.”
“What’s that!” demanded Dick. “I don’t think I understand you.”
“Ice thin where river runs quick. Toma, me, drive on river too close to rapids. Hurry up get back here for sick fella. We go fast. Toma, me, sit in sled. All at once ice break. Toma, huskies, me, sled—everybody fall in river.”
Dick sat and stared incredulously at the speaker. He understood now. This was Raoul Testawich, Toma’s friend, who, in his broken English, was trying to describe what had taken place that night farther up the river. Dick shivered at the thought of that unexpected, icy-cold plunge when the sled with its two occupants had broken through into the river. No wonder that young Testawich looked like a ghost, his clothing a glistening ice and snow-covered mantle of white.
“Is Toma safe?” he questioned eagerly.
“Yes,” nodded the half-breed, “Toma all right, but sled gone. Cut harness away from sled to save huskies. Toma stay back there now and watch dogs. What you think; you, me take sick fella along that far?”
“We can try,” answered Dick in an awed voice. “How far did you say it was?”
“About one mile,” said Raoul.