It was then that the lad was first aware of the practical reason for Hawke's warning, for in the excitement of the contest he had handled the rifle with ungloved hands. His finger tips and the palm of his right hand were a mass of small blisters.
"I can't leave him there; he'll be frozen to death," thought Leslie, manfully striving, in spite of the intense pain in his hands, to lift the helpless man.
"Guy," he shouted. "Come and bear a hand."
Guy Anderson, although considerably shaken in the encounter, came to his assistance, but owing to the incumbrance of their thick clothing and the weight of their injured comrade, their combined efforts failed to move Hawke for more than a few yards. They were quite a quarter of a mile from the sleigh.
"Cut back to the ship and get help," suggested Guy. "You may be able to get the sleigh going. I'll stay here."
Leslie shook his head.
"It's too jolly cold to leave Hawke here," he objected. "If there were any snow, I'd bury him in it and risk it. No; we must get back."
"I have it!" exclaimed Guy. "We'll have to drag him back to the sleigh. Tie his wrists together so that his arms won't come in contact with the rough ice. His fur coat will protect his back."
The unconscious man's wrists were secured by means of a muffler, while the rifle sling was passed round his ankles as a very rough and ready drag-rope. Guy, carrying the rifle in his left hand, grasped the sling with his right, while Leslie also laid hold with his left. Stumbling and slipping over the ice, the two lads made their way back to the sleigh, dragging their human burden behind them.
"That's good!" ejaculated Leslie, as Hawke was propped up on the middle seat. "Now comes the tricky business; suppose I can't get the motor to start—what happens then?"