Occasionally they found good going for a few miles when the thaw water had all run off into some neighboring crack, and the surface was fairly even and nearly dry. But after they passed the Richardson River and tried to work nearer the shore, their difficulties increased every minute. Taptuna began to be anxious; Okak was in a blue funk; and even Guninana, the cheerful, cast many a glance at the brightening sky. If they could not find an ice bridge to the shore before sunrise, their chances of making it at the end of another long, sweltering, Arctic day would be considerably less. At last they came to a stretch where the ice did close in to the shore.
“It’s rotten, absolutely rotten!” Okak almost wept.
“We’ve got to try it just the same,” Taptuna said.
He looked significantly eastward. The sky already crimsoned, the weather promised hot and clear. Out on the gulf the sea ice, though rough, was thick enough and safe enough; here shore water had eaten it away above and below till it was dangerously thin. Taptuna gazed longingly toward the land rising from the remains of a solid old pressure ridge still lying on the beach firm and inviting. He felt impelled to risk crossing—though he knew it was a risk for both themselves and the sleigh.
They debated the question; Okak was strongly negative.
“Don’t try it, don’t try it! Let us go farther on—we may come to a better bridge.”
“And we may not find any at all. There is the Coppermine River south,” Guninana answered.
“That’s true.” Taptuna fell into a deep silence gazing carefully up and down the coast.
“This is as good as any place,” he decided. “I’m going to try. You and Noashak had better come along with me; Kak can drive the dogs, and Okak steady the sleigh behind.”
“We’ll be drowned! We’ll certainly be drowned! Oh, what will become of us?” moaned Okak.