“Now, Bill,” said North; “your turn next.”
“I can’t do it, Job,” said Stevens. “Get aboard yourself. The lad can’t come back again. 66
“We’re driftin’ out too fast. He’s your lad, an’ you’ve the right to–––”
“Ay, I can come back,” said Donald. “Come on, Bill! Be quick!”
Stevens was a lighter man than Alexander Bludd; but the passage was wider, and still widening, for the pack had gathered speed. When Stevens was safely landed he looked back. A vast white shadow was all that he could see. Job North’s figure had been merged with the night.
“Donald, b’y,” he said, “you got t’ go back for your father, but I’m fair feared you’ll never–––”
“Give me a push, Bill,” said Donald.
Stevens caught the end of the gaff and pushed the lad out.
“Good-bye, Donald,” he called.
When the pan touched the other side Job North stepped aboard without a word. He was a heavy man. With his great body on the ice-cake, the difficulty of return was enormously increased, as Donald had foreseen. The pan was overweighted. Time and again it nearly shook itself free of its load and rose to the surface. North was near the centre, plying his gaff with 67 difficulty, but Donald was on the extreme edge. Moreover, the distance was twice as great as it had been at first, and the waves were running high, and it was dark.