“What about the big cat?” exclaimed Johnny. “I thought I was seeing things.”
“E’s a Roosian tiger,” stated Jarvis. “I’ve seen the likes of ’im fur north of here.”
“To-morrow,” said Johnny, “we’ll take a day off for hunting. Big, yellow cats and little yellow men are not good neighbors unless they’ve agreed in advance to behave. Move we turn in. All in favor, go to bed.”
A moment later the clubroom was deserted.
CHAPTER IV
CHUKCHE TREACHERY
The proposed hunt for “big yellow cats and little yellow men” did not come off, at least not at the time appointed. Morning found the tundra, the hills, everything, blotted out by a blinding, whirling blizzard. It was such a storm as one experiences only in the Arctic. The snow, fine and hard as granulated sugar, was piled high against the cabin. The door was blocked. Exit could be had only through a window.
Dave Tower, in attempting to make his way to the storeroom to secure a fresh supply of canned milk and evaporated eggs, found himself hopelessly lost in the blinding snow clouds. Possessed of singular presence of mind, he settled himself in the lee of a snow bank and waited. In time, a pencil of yellow light came jabbing its way through the leaden darkness. His companions had formed themselves in a circle and, with flash lights blinking here and there, sought and found him. After that, they remained within doors until the storm had spent its fury.