In another second they saw what the tiger saw. A clumsy, ponderous polar bear, making her way inland to some rocky cavern for a sleep, had blundered upon them.
“Ship ahoy!” breathed Jarvis. “Twelve feet long, if she’s an inch, and a bob for a tail at that.”
“Look!” whispered Dave. “She has her cub with her.”
“And the cat sees ’er. ’Oly mackerel, wot a scrap.”
When Johnny Thompson dropped on hands and knees in the cavern after the Eskimo’s candle had flickered out, he felt his arm seized by the twitching fingers of Pant, and, half by his own effort, half by the insistent drag of his companion, who seemed to be quite at home in this dungeon-like darkness, he made his way rapidly toward the door.
Complete darkness appeared to have demoralized the forces of evil that had been arrayed against them. Soft-padded footsteps could be heard here and there, but these persons seemed to be hurrying like frightened bats to a place of hiding. Twice they were stumbled upon by some one fleeing.
Johnny’s mind worked rapidly.
“Pant,” he breathed, “if they strike a light and hold it, we’re lost!”
“Got your automatic?”