When this smaller set had been called into action, he tuned the larger set to longer wave lengths. He hoped to catch some sound from the air which might relieve the awful silence.
“Wonderful thing this radiophone,” he told himself. “Great boon to the Arctic. Think of the trader, the trapper, the gold hunter alone in his cabin, tired of the sound of his own voice and that of his dog. Think of being able to tune in on his radio and bring down snatches of song, of instrumental music and of ordinary conversation, right out of the air—some young girl sending her lover a good-night kiss, for instance,” he chuckled to himself. “But—”
He paused abruptly. He was getting something on the long wave lengths. Faint, indistinct at first came the message. Yet he caught it clearly. His nerves tingled as he listened. It was Munson, the great Arctic explorer. He was attempting to inform the outside world, especially the men who had financed his expedition, of his plans. He had established a large supply station on Flaxman Island; then he had pushed fearlessly out through the floes toward the Pole. His ship was strongly built, with an extra covering of iron-wood on its keel. Its engines were powerful. He would go as far as the steamer would carry him, then he would hop off in an airplane and attempt the Pole. He was supplied with three airplanes. In these, if his ship should be wrecked, he would be able to carry his entire company and crew to the supply house on Flaxman Island.
This brief report was followed by a personal message to his wife, then the air was once more clear. The old, monotonous silence settled down upon Curlie’s little world. During all the time he had listened in, his fingers had been flying across a sheet of paper. He had written down the message. It was within the realm of possibility that he was the only operator who had got it. In that case it would be his duty to relay it to those for whom it was intended.
During all this time one question had been revolving in his mind: Why had not the man he sought, the outlaw of the air, broken in on this message? He had been informed that this man had taken delight in breaking up Munson’s communications. Why then this silence? Could it be that he himself was out scouting around, trying to ambush Joe and Jennings and in time even Curlie himself? Or was he merely afraid of being detected at this time?
“Possibly,” said Curlie to himself, “there was something about that message which interested him. In that case he would want to hear to the end.”
Suddenly his hand made a clutch at his rifle. What was that? Had he caught the sound of a footstep or was it merely a white owl flapping his wings? He sat there listening, scarcely breathing, awaiting he hardly knew what. And, at this moment, on the 200 meter wave lengths a message came to his waiting ears.
CHAPTER V
DANGEROUS BUSINESS
The Indian who had promised to provide the boys with caribou meat had not deceived them. At the appointed hour he had returned with an abundant supply.
In his eagerness to secure provisions for a long lap of the journey, Joe had piled his sled high with meat. In doing this he had made a mistake, but this he did not know at the time.