CHAPTER XIII.

OFF THE CLIFF.

“Shtop ther Ranger—quick!”

“All right, Barney.”

“Give us yer hand, me bye.”

“Here you are, sir.”

“All roight, Frank, go ahead. I’ve got him.”

And up on the deck Barney hoisted the boy in a twinkling.

Frank looked up and saw the avalanche of snow almost upon them and then glanced ahead.

Many mighty ice blocks obstructed the Ranger’s path, and as she could not turn around and retrace her course, Frank resolved to try a desperate plan.

He determined to rush off the top of the cliff.

Accordingly he spun the wheel around and the boat dashed like lightning to the edge of the precipice.

As quick as a flash he pulled the gyroscope lever.

To his horror the wheels did not lift the boat at once.

Were they madly dashing to their doom?

Death seemed certain if they went off the cliff, but it was too late to do anything else now, as he could not stop her, nor had he room to swerve her aside.

A cold sweat burst out all over him.

“Heavens!” he gasped. “Pomp told me the dynamo was fixed.”

A shout of intense horror escaped Frank’s companions, and as the boat leaped like a cannon-ball from that appalling height, every one instinctively grasped something to hold himself.

Far out from the cliff shot the Ranger.

She was closely pursued by the avalanche.

Every one gave a gasp as the boat began to fall.

But when they observed that she went down very slowly, they realized that they were not doomed yet.

Indeed the gyroscopes had been revolving from the moment Frank first turned on the lever; but as it required a few seconds for the current to get them spinning fast enough to buoy the ship up, they had not sustained the Ranger immediately.

As soon as the ice boat gained its equilibrium in the air, however, she came to a pause and hung there.

The avalanche of snow poured over the cliff and fell with a dull roar down upon the ice below.

“God bless me sowl!” said Barney. “We’re floyin’!”

“Is this the end of us?” asked a trembling voice beside him.

It was the boy who spoke, and he gazed around shudderingly, for he thought they were going to drop to the earth.

He was the same boy whom Frank had made an effort to defend in Boston, and he wore the same natty cap and military school uniform beneath a rough coat much too big for him.

His wan, pale face bore the stamp of great suffering, too.

Barney shook his head and replied:

“We’re safe! Shure, this is a flyin’ machine.”

“Oh—I see!”

“Come inside, me bye.”

He led Walter Grey into the turret.

The poor fellow was half frozen.

Our friends warmed him up, fed him, put fur clothing on him, and finally told him all about what had happened in Boston, and their subsequent search for him.

He was amazed at the story.

When it was finished, he said:

“I had a hard time of it aboard the Red Eric when I revived from the drug. Bolt made me work with the crew. There I got nothing but kicks and cuffs, poor fare and hard work. At the time they were looking for the whale I was towing astern mixing paint in a quarter boat. Ben Bolt appeared at the taffrail and cut the painter. I was left adrift. No attention was paid to my cries. The current carried me to where you found the boat. Thinking I might find some one on shore, I went up on the cliffs. A pack of wolves attacked me. I had a pistol which I found aboard the Red Eric, but it did little good. If you hadn’t arrived just in time, the beasts would have killed me.”

“Then Captain Ben Bolt deliberately cut you adrift?” asked Frank.

“Yes. More—he said, as he did it, ‘I’ve been waiting for this chance to put you out of the way, I won’t let it slip!’ That showed me that he thirsted for my life.”

“I’ll make him answer for his evil work!” declared Frank.

“How do you mean, Mr. Reade?”

“Why, I’ll make a prisoner of him, carry him back to Boston, and put him in prison for his wickedness.”

“Do you know where to find him?”

“Why, yes; in Nordenskjold bay.”

“Don’t you think he will leave there after what happened?”

“Probably; but he can’t escape me, though.”

The flying ice ship was steered down the coast again.

When she reached the bay, Frank found the ship gone.

“She certainly did not go northward,” said the inventor to his friends. “We would have seen her if she had. Therefore we must go to the southward to find her.”

“Perhaps she has gone to the strait.”

“That’s the only open place in which she could find a safe refuge,” said Frank. “We return to the Norwegian fishing station.”

According to this plan, they continued on to the southward.

On the following morning the doctor was at the wheel, and Barney went on deck to examine the shore with a glass.

Warmly clothed as the Irishman was, he shivered, for the moisture over the Gulf Stream was very dense, and congealed into those fine, penetrating particles in greater profusion here than elsewhere.

They seemed to fairly go through his furs.

His eyes were protected by goggles, and he had drawn on a pair of fur overshoes, which were strapped to his legs.

Pomp had assisted him to put those pattens on with a most suspicious kind of zeal, which Barney failed to observe.

The Irishman stood at the stern for a few minutes watching the shore with his glass; then he attempted to return to the interior.

He could not budge an inch.

A look of surprise overspread his face.

“Begob, I’m shtuck!” he gasped.

Then he made a second effort to walk away.

It proved to be as futile as the first, and the expression of perplexity upon his face deepened into one of blank dismay.

“Howly jim-jams!” he ejaculated. “Me legs is that numb I’ve lost control av thim intoirely.”

He struggled frantically to move, but fell on his back, the soles of his fur shoes glued to the deck tenaciously.

“Murdher!” he howled, “I’m a goner. Hey, Pomp! Hey, Pomp!”

“Wha’ yo? wan’, honey?” responded the coon, rushing out of the turret with a broad grin on his ebony face.

“Send for a lawyer till I make me will. I’m a corpse!”

“Wha’ de matter?” chuckled Pomp, grinning harder than ever behind his face protector.

“D’yez yer moind ther legs av me?”

“Dey’s long enough.”

“It’s paralyzed they are. I’m dyin’ from me toes upards.”

“Why doan’ yer git up?”

“I can’t. All power have left me intoirely.”

“I’se gwine ter see ‘bout dat,” said Pomp.

“Howld yer gob!” roared Barney, angrily. “Is it laughin’ yez are at a dead man? Be heavens, I’ll bate yez black an’ blue!”

And he gave Pomp a thump in the neck that made him see stars.

“Glory to de lamb!” roared the coon. “Wha’ fo’ yo’ soak me dat way, yo’ ole scallawag—h’m?”

And so saying he rushed up at Barney, grabbed him by the nose with a vise-like grip, and gave that organ such a twist that Barney roared and clinched him.

For a few moments they struggled, but as Barney could not move his feet, the coon had the best of it.

He was just going to pull Barney’s hair when Frank came out on deck and shouted wrathfully at them.

Up jumped Pomp and inside he rushed to escape a scolding which Frank now poured out at the Irishman.

“Didn’t I send you out here to look for the strait?” he asked.

“Yis, sor,” groaned Barney.

“Get up from there.”

“Yis, sor,” and the Celt complied.

“Come here!”

“I can’t!”

“Why can’t you?”

“Me legs rafuses ter boodge, sor.”

Frank saw that he could not move, and walking over to the Irishman, he knelt down and examined his shoes.

He quickly detected the cause of Barney’s plight.

“Did you soak the soles of your fur boots in hot water before you came out in this freezing temperature?” he asked.

“Why, no, sor,” replied Barney, in astonishment.

“Well, they’ve been treated that way, and are frozen fast to the deck.”

“Arrah, it wuz koind ther naygur wuz ter help me on wid ‘em,” said Barney. “Av coorse he didn’t do it, but if yez will onstharp thim fer me, I’ll folly that coon an’ bate ther flure wid his liver.”

“Up to his jokes again,” sighed Frank, as he released the Irishman. “But let it pass, Barney, for there’s the strait now, and we’ll have to spend our time looking for the whaler instead of playing practical jokes.”

“Begorra, ye’ve saved ther loife av ther coon,” said Barney, as he left his fur soles stuck fast to the deck and hastened inside after Frank out of the cold.

The doctor had turned the ice ship to the leeward.

She sped along inland over the strait, and in a couple of hours reached the Norwegian fishing station.

As Frank glanced down he saw four ships.

They were the three he had seen there before and the Red Eric as well.