CHAPTER VII

THE MOTOR-SLEIGH IS TAKEN OUT

IT was not long before the motor-sleigh was slung outboard by means of a derrick. It was a comparatively light affair, to be used in connection with the base camp. In appearance it strongly resembled the usual Arctic type of sleigh, only instead of being drawn by a team of dogs, it was propelled by an aerial propeller actuated by a four-cylinder petrol motor.

"May as well take my rifle," explained Aubrey Hawke, the engineer, as he placed a fur-lined bundle in the sleigh. "We may get a chance of shooting something."

"Why have you wrapped it up like a mummy?" asked Guy.

"To save my fingers from being burnt," replied Hawke. Then, seeing the look of incredulity on the lads' faces, he added: "It stands to reason a fellow can't press a trigger when his fingers are muffled in fur gloves. If you were to take off your gloves and touch any metal object you would find that the intense cold would cause the metal to act in much the same way as if it were quite hot. It would probably peel the skin from your fingers. Stow the rifle under the seat, Guy; Leslie, you sit immediately in front of me. I'll let you take the tiller after I've got the hang of it."

The sleigh was a three-seater, with a propeller of the tractor type, the blades being protected by steel guards which would not only serve to prevent damage to them in the event of a capsize, but also obviate any chance of the passengers being struck by the whirling propeller. Steering was effected by a short steel runner with a razor-like edge. To the rudder was affixed a short, massive tiller of ash.

"This is a sort of preliminary canter before we start with the giant sleigh," explained Aubrey Hawke. "Hitherto I've had no experience in guiding a mechanically propelled sleigh, and I reckon it will take a bit of practice. Lie low, both of you, and keep your hoods well over your faces."

The lads did as they were directed, while Hawke, making his way to the front of the sleigh, prepared to start the motor. This he did by swinging the propeller, which made Guy wonder what would happen when the thing did start.

Would Hawke be in time to regain his seat before the sleigh darted off at forty miles an hour?

The motor was most refractory. Owing to the intense cold, the oil in the cylinders had frozen, but after a considerable amount of energy had been expended in swinging the engine, the petrol fired merrily. Yet the sleigh, beyond quivering under the vibration of the engine, made no attempt to move.

Almost leisurely Hawke strolled back to his seat, and having carefully adjusted his wrappings, touched several levers operating the controls.

Quickly the revolutions of the propeller increased, until the noise seemed deafening. With a jerk which almost threw the lads backward, the sleigh started, and soon attained a speed of forty miles an hour.

Three minutes were sufficient to bring the sleigh to the farthermost limits of the ice floe, then, slowing down, Hawke made a cautious turn to the left. Even then the left-hand runner rose quite two feet in the air, the tilt of the sleigh threatening to throw the crew upon the ice.

Once more on the straight, Hawke opened the throttle "all out." Like an object endowed with life, the sleigh bounded forward. Rifts in the ice it made light of, literally skimming across the deep yet narrow crevices. Hummocks of medium size it leapt at, surmounted, and, with hardly a perceptible jar, alighted upon smooth ice beyond. The only thing lacking was, in Leslie's opinion, the promised chance of steering the swiftly-moving and novel vehicle.

Suddenly Hawke throttled down and switched off the motor. Carried onwards by its own momentum, the sleigh travelled nearly two hundred yards before the pace appeared to diminish appreciably. It was a glide in glorious silence, compared with the roar of the propellers and the explosions of the engines. Only the sharp swish as the keen runners cut the ice and broke the stillness.

"A big hummock ahead," remarked Hawke, pointing to a rounded hill of ice. "It's too much for us to tackle in this affair. The big sleigh would simply do it as easy as winking. We'll pull up here and have a brisk walk. My limbs are half-frozen already."

Nothing loth, Leslie and Guy alighted, and began to stamp and swing their arms vigorously. Aubrey Hawke, picking up his rifle, gave the word, and the three set off briskly across the ice.

"This must be the end of the floe," declared Hawke. "See how the ice is piled up in great slabs. Evidently there has been a gale, and that accounts for the grotesque formation of this part of the ice. Be careful, it will be much more slippery. You two follow me, and look where you're treading."

For about a hundred yards the party threaded their way between huge, frozen slabs of water, until their progress was barred by a steep wall of semi-transparent ice.

"Nothing doing this way," said Guy.

"Isn't everything still?" remarked Leslie.

The remark was justifiable. The solitude of the Arctic was most impressive. Not a living creature except the three human beings was to be seen. The absence of beast and bird seemed the strange part of the business. It was a land of utter solitude.

"Best make our way back," suggested Hawke. "I don't want the motor to be 'gummed' up again. The cold is almost enough to fracture the cylinders. And, hang it, why did I trouble to bring this rifle with me?"

"I'll carry it back to the sleigh," offered Leslie.

"Right-o; mind you don't drop it," cautioned Hawke, handing the fur-encased weapon to the lad. "We'll work round to the right. It looks easier going. That's the hummock we have to make for."

A short distance farther on their progress was impeded by two slabs of ice that met in the form of a V-shaped arch, leaving a space just sufficient for a man to crawl through.

With very little difficulty Hawke negotiated the obstacle. Leslie, the next to follow, had more trouble, for in bulk he could give the former several inches. Just as the youth was regaining his feet, he was astonished to hear Hawke give a warning shout, which was immediately followed by a deep growl.

Within twenty feet of the natural archway was a huge Polar bear. It was standing on its hind legs, and waving its front paws menacingly, while its open jaws revealed two truly formidable rows of teeth. From its mouth its breath issued in a dense cloud of vapour, which reminded Leslie of the dragons of his early days.

"My rifle," shouted Hawke.

Leslie held up the roll of furs containing the weapon. Hawke wheeled to wrest it from its coverings, but directly his back was turned the bear shuffled at a great pace towards him--nine feet of ferocity.

While Hawke was still struggling to disengage his rifle, the animal struck him a violent buffet with one of its fore-paws. The force of the blow sent the man reeling against the wall of ice, while the rifle fell from his nerveless grasp. The fierce onslaught had broken Hawke's left arm.

The next instant the bear had him in his powerful embrace. Growling savagely, yet making no attempt to bite, the animal was proceeding to crush the life out of the luckless man.

Leslie's first instinct was to seek safety in flight, but the desire for self-preservation was only momentary. Scrambling over the rough ice, he drew off his cumbersome gloves, secured the rifle, then, awaiting a favourable opportunity so that he could fire without hitting his comrade, he pressed the trigger.

A sharp click was the only response. Either the cartridge was defective or the weapon was unloaded. Fortunately Leslie was no fool with firearms. He understood the mechanism perfectly. He jerked back the bolt. No cartridge flew from the open breech. The rifle had not been loaded. Hawke, for some unknown reason, had omitted to Be Prepared, and he was even now paying the penalty.

"Where are the cartridges?" shouted the lads in desperation.

Hawke's stifled reply was completely out-voiced by a deep growl from the bear, the pressure of whose enormous and powerful paws was already telling upon its victim.

"The cartridges, man; where are the cartridges?" repeated the lad, in his anxiety getting almost within reach of the terrible bear.

"My pocket," gasped Hawke. "Be quick, for the love of Heaven."

Regardless of the risk, Leslie plunged one hand into the pocket of Hawke's fur coat. His fingers came in contact with the metal cylinders. Even as he did so, he felt a violent blow on the side of his head that sent his fur hood flying a dozen yards. The bear had struck him with terrible force, its cruel talons missing him by the fraction of an inch.

It was then that Guy, who had taken some time to scramble through the arch of ice, threw himself into the fray. Armed only with a short knife, he plunged the blade again and again into the animal's side. Maddened, but not mortally wounded, the animal dropped its first victim and transferred its attention to its second assailant.

Pinned by the bear's fierce grip, Guy was lifted completely off his feet. His knife fell from his grasp. He could feel the brute's hot, sickly breath as it alternately growled and howled with fury and pain.

Rapidly, yet without fumbling, Leslie thrust a cartridge into the rifle. Stepping up till the muzzle almost touched the animal's ear he fired. The small calibre bullet fired at close range was as destructive in its effect as a dum-dum. The bear, making a convulsive movement that very nearly finished Guy's career, toppled heavily upon the ice.

Reloading the rifle, in order to Be Prepared for similar surprises, Leslie laid the weapon on the ice and devoted his immediate attention to the now unconscious Aubrey Hawke.

It was then that the lad was first aware of the practical reason for Hawke's warning, for in the excitement of the contest he had handled the rifle with ungloved hands. His finger tips and the palm of his right hand were a mass of small blisters.

"I can't leave him there; he'll be frozen to death," thought Leslie, manfully striving, in spite of the intense pain in his hands, to lift the helpless man.

"Guy," he shouted. "Come and bear a hand."

Guy Anderson, although considerably shaken in the encounter, came to his assistance, but owing to the incumbrance of their thick clothing and the weight of their injured comrade, their combined efforts failed to move Hawke for more than a few yards. They were quite a quarter of a mile from the sleigh.

"Cut back to the ship and get help," suggested Guy. "You may be able to get the sleigh going. I'll stay here."

Leslie shook his head.

"It's too jolly cold to leave Hawke here," he objected. "If there were any snow, I'd bury him in it and risk it. No; we must get back."

"I have it!" exclaimed Guy. "We'll have to drag him back to the sleigh. Tie his wrists together so that his arms won't come in contact with the rough ice. His fur coat will protect his back."

The unconscious man's wrists were secured by means of a muffler, while the rifle sling was passed round his ankles as a very rough and ready drag-rope. Guy, carrying the rifle in his left hand, grasped the sling with his right, while Leslie also laid hold with his left. Stumbling and slipping over the ice, the two lads made their way back to the sleigh, dragging their human burden behind them.

"That's good!" ejaculated Leslie, as Hawke was propped up on the middle seat. "Now comes the tricky business; suppose I can't get the motor to start--what happens then?"