"I'll carry it back to the sleigh," offered Leslie.
"Right-o; mind you don't drop it," cautioned Hawke, handing the fur-encased weapon to the lad. "We'll work round to the right. It looks easier going. That's the hummock we have to make for."
A short distance farther on their progress was impeded by two slabs of ice that met in the form of a V-shaped arch, leaving a space just sufficient for a man to crawl through.
With very little difficulty Hawke negotiated the obstacle. Leslie, the next to follow, had more trouble, for in bulk he could give the former several inches. Just as the youth was regaining his feet, he was astonished to hear Hawke give a warning shout, which was immediately followed by a deep growl.
Within twenty feet of the natural archway was a huge Polar bear. It was standing on its hind legs, and waving its front paws menacingly, while its open jaws revealed two truly formidable rows of teeth. From its mouth its breath issued in a dense cloud of vapour, which reminded Leslie of the dragons of his early days.
"My rifle," shouted Hawke.
Leslie held up the roll of furs containing the weapon. Hawke wheeled to wrest it from its coverings, but directly his back was turned the bear shuffled at a great pace towards him—nine feet of ferocity.
While Hawke was still struggling to disengage his rifle, the animal struck him a violent buffet with one of its fore-paws. The force of the blow sent the man reeling against the wall of ice, while the rifle fell from his nerveless grasp. The fierce onslaught had broken Hawke's left arm.
The next instant the bear had him in his powerful embrace. Growling savagely, yet making no attempt to bite, the animal was proceeding to crush the life out of the luckless man.
Leslie's first instinct was to seek safety in flight, but the desire for self-preservation was only momentary. Scrambling over the rough ice, he drew off his cumbersome gloves, secured the rifle, then, awaiting a favourable opportunity so that he could fire without hitting his comrade, he pressed the trigger.