Even then his mind was but half occupied with the affairs of the moment. He was thinking of the mystery plane.
“What became of them?” he asked himself. “Did they make a forced landing? Could they have crashed? Did they reach their base? If so, where is it? Will I ever find it? And if I do?
“The riddle of the storm,” he murmured, “of two storms. When will it be solved?” For the first time he realized how fully this problem had taken possession of his thoughts.
“Such a riddle!” His tone became animated. “And its solution means so much to these far flung dwellers of the North.
“One thing comes first. That’s clear. We must get this wounded man to the doctor at Resolution!
“Oh, Jerry,” he called. “Is the motor O.K.?”
“Absolutely.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
The motor thundered. Curlie climbed aboard, looked back to see that his passenger was ready, then set the plane gliding over the snow. A moment later the great bird rose with a graceful glide and soared toward the clouds.
* * * * * * * *