CHAPTER VIII
NECK OR NOTHING
"You hold on," objected Guy. "Your hands are as raw as uncooked beefsteak. I'll have a shot at it. I saw how Hawke did the trick."
Somewhat reluctantly Leslie gave way, at the same time cautioning Guy not to get caught by the blades of the propellers when the engine fired.
Pluckily Guy tackled the job. He did not relish it, for he knew to his cost what a back-fire meant. Once he had received a heavy blow from the starting handle of a motor-car, and that had, figuratively, knocked the stuffing out of him. Yet he was a lad who could be relied upon to come up to the scratch in a tight corner; so, setting his jaw tightly, he gave the propeller a lusty swing. Nothing favourable resulted.
Again and again he swung the blades, till his forehead was covered with frozen beads of perspiration. Sheer exhaustion forced him to desist.
"I believe the petrol is frozen," he declared breathlessly.
Then Leslie tried his utmost, but without success. It seemed as if the sleigh with its three occupants were fated to be stranded miles from the ship.
"We'll have to drag the beastly thing," declared Guy. "It won't take much effort, once we get it going."