Part 17 (1/2)

”He's across and can never recross to us,” she moaned in despair. ”No creature could brave that undercurrent and live. And there is no other way.”

Then, as the full terror of their situation flashed upon her, she sank down in a heap and buried her face in her hands.

They were two lone girls ten miles from any land, on the bosom of a vast ice-floe, which was slowly but surely creeping toward the unknown northern sea. They had no chart, no compa.s.s, no trail to follow and no guide. To move seemed futile, yet to remain where they were meant sure disaster.

As if to complete the tragedy of the whole situation, a snow-fog drifted down upon them. Blotting out the black ribbon of water and every ice-pile that was more than a stone's throw from them, it swept on to the south with a silence that was more appalling than had been the grinding scream of a tidal wave beneath the ice.

”Lucile! Lucile!” she fairly screamed as she came down to the surface of the pan. ”Lucile! Wake up! We are lost! He is lost!”

What had happened to the young college boy had been this: He had hastened to the north in search of the trail. Rover, with nose close to the ice, had searched diligently for the scent. For a long time his search had been unrewarded, but at last, with a joyous bark, he sprang away across an ice-pan.

The boy followed him far enough to make sure that he had truly found the trail, then, calling him back, turned to retrace his steps.

Great was his consternation when he discovered the cleavage in the floe. Hopefully he had at first gone east along the channel in search of a possible pa.s.sage. He found none. After racing for a mile, he turned and retraced his steps to the point where he had first come upon open water. From there he hurried west along the channel. Another twenty minutes was wasted. No possible crossing-place could be found.

He then sat down to think. He thought first of his companions. That they were in a dire plight, he realized well. That they would be able to devise any plan by which they could find their way to any sh.o.r.e, he doubted; yet, as he thought of it, his own position seemed more critical. The trail he had found would now be useless. He was north of the break in the floe. Land lay to the south of it. He had no way to cross. In such circ.u.mstances, the dog with his keen sense of smell, and his compa.s.s with its unerring finger, were equally useless.

”Nothing to do but wait,” he mumbled, so he sat down patiently to wait.

And, as he waited, the snow-fog settled down over all.

CHAPTER XI

”WITHOUT COMPa.s.s OR GUIDE”

It was with a staggering sense of hopelessness that the two girls on the bosom of the Arctic floe saw the snow-fog settle down.

”It's likely to last for days, and by that time--” Marian's lips refused to frame the words that expressed their condition when the snow-fog lifted.

”By that time--” echoed Lucile. ”But no, we must do something.

Surely, there is some way!”

”Without compa.s.s or guide?” Marian smiled at the impossibility of there being a solution.

Unconsciously, she had repeated the first line of an old song. Lucile said over the verse:

”Without compa.s.s or guide.

On the crest of the tide.

Oh! Light of the stars, Pray pilot me home.”

Involuntarily, her glance stole skyward. Instantly an exclamation escaped her lips:

”Oh, Marian! We can see them! We can! We can!”

”What can we see?” asked Marian.