On and on in single file plodded the five adventurers, bending as they faced the cutting northerly wind. Ranworth led the way, keeping a compass course, while, to make additionally sure of being able to retrace their steps, long scars were cut in the ice, pointing in the direction from which the party had come.
After traversing a mile, and meeting with no fissure in the ice sufficiently wide to impede the progress of the sleigh, Ranworth called a halt.
Sheltering under the lee side of a hummock, and huddled together for mutual warmth, the pioneers rested for a quarter of an hour. Hardly a word was spoken during the interval. The men were too exhausted, after stepping and stumbling over the rough ice and facing the biting wind.
Once more they resumed their slow march. Two more miles brought them within sight of open water. A passage had been found at the expense of hours of physical and mental exertion—a distance that could be covered in the sleigh in the space of five or six minutes.
"Best be getting back, sir," said Rogers huskily, pointing with his mittened hand towards the north. "There's snow falling beyond yon grey streak. Looks a regular blizzard."
The seaman was right. Before the party had traversed a quarter of a mile of the return journey, the watery-looking sun was hidden from sight. The wind rose until it blew with considerable violence, moaning dismally as it swept over the icebound plateau.
Each man was now tormented with the same thought, yet none dared express himself to the others. With the sudden springing up of the gale, the Bird of Freedom was in danger. Should the grapnels drag, or the securing ropes part under the strain, the sleigh would scud rapidly along away from the floe. The explorers, without provisions and means of shelter, would be doomed.
Then, accompanied by a rush of wind that almost threw the jaded men on their faces, came the blizzard.