"How many of you are there altogether?" asked Ranworth.
"Ten."
The Russian stretched out his hand for more soup. Ranworth was silent. He was thinking deeply. The obligations of the relief party were increased twofold. In the name of humanity he must proceed to the rescue of the luckless crew of the destroyed airship. At the most the Bird of Freedom could accommodate sixteen persons only, including her original complement.
"It will mean two trips," he soliloquised. "The question is: whose necessity is greater—my brother's or this man's comrades? Dash it! Of all the intricate problems, this is the stiffest I have had to face."
Finally Ranworth resolved to defer his decision until the Bird of Freedom arrived at Observation Camp. It would obviously be a kind of wild-goose chase to penetrate fifteen or twenty miles farther inland, until the two rescued Russians could give clear and concise directions as to how to reach the spot where they had left their unfortunate comrades.
His thoughts were interrupted by a gradually increasing grinding noise. The snow had been freezing rapidly, and the decapod wheels, instead of noiselessly gripping the powdery ground, were now encountering ice strong enough to support the runners.
Accordingly the weight of the sleigh was transferred from the wheels to the steel runners, the air-propellers were brought into action, and once more the Bird of Freedom settled down to a steady pace of forty miles an hour.
"I'll take her, Guy," said Ranworth, relieving the lad at the steering-wheel. "We ought not to be far off now."
Ten minutes later Leslie received the order to switch off, and the sleigh, gradually losing way, came to a standstill within ten feet of the nearest of a cluster of snow huts.
The rescue party had arrived at Observation Camp.