“One of you keep with me,” shouted Dave, in an urgent tone. “This way!”
Seizing the reflector lantern, the young aviator dashed along the arcade. It was Hiram who first heeded his order. He had grabbed up the heaviest club at hand. At the end of the arcade Dave halted for a moment, confused by the blinding snow eddies and the dim obscurity.
“That way, straight ahead,” panted the wrought up Hiram, as another wild scream rang out.
It was mingled with the echoes of the sleigh bells in quite another direction. It was mixed with the baying and howls of the wolves nearer at hand.
The pilot of the Comet dashed on. The snow was deep and clogging. Hiram labored at his heels. The eye of light showed nothing until they had gone nearly fifty feet. Then its rays illumined a startling picture.
Upon the snow, lying upon heavy fur robes, was a man. Supporting himself upon one elbow, he was slashing about him with a short, horn-handled, thick-bladed knife. Around him more than a dozen wolves were seeking to spring upon and disable him. The minute the light dazzled the ravenous pack, they drew away, baffled.
The rescued man was clad in heavy furs. His cap, the gloves he wore, his whole equipment indicated comfort and wealth. He seemed to take in the situation at a glance. As he struggled to his feet, a motion of his hand showed deep gratitude.
He shuddered as he bent his ear to catch the retreating bayings of the wolves. Just a faint echo of the sleigh bells was now audible. A look of satisfaction came into the man’s face as he discovered this. He spoke some words in a language the young airmen could not understand. Dave pointed to the campfire, and the man bowed. Then Hiram helped him pick up the scattered sleigh robes. Dave leading the way, all hands started for the arcade.
“Who is he?” whispered the curious Elmer to Hiram, as the trio came within the radius of the cheery blaze he had built up with great armfuls of wood.
“Russian, I guess,” replied Hiram. “He can’t tell us, though, for we don’t understand him.”