CHAPTER XXVI

THE SPARKLE OF DIAMONDS

Just as Joe and Jennings had finished their breakfast of polar bear meat and were preparing to go forward, the broad cake of ice on which they had camped gave a sudden lurch, then rose to such an angle as threatened to pitch them all into a yawning gap of black water.

Joe sprang forward. The dogs howled dismally. Only Jennings kept his head.

“Wonder if that’s the beginning of a break-up?” he said, wrinkling his brow. “If it is, every man-buck of that exploring party’s lost and we’ll be doin’ fine if we escape ourselves. It’s a tremendous affair when this ice gets to pilin’. Big cakes, wide as a city lot and thick as a one-story house, climb on top of each other like kittens playin’ with a yarn ball. What’s a man’s chance in a mess like that?”

There was, however, no thought of turning back. As long as there was a chance of saving Munson’s party their duty lay straight ahead. Only one part of their plans was changed. It was decided that they would pack their dogs as burros are packed on mountain trails and that until the return trip their sled should be abandoned.

It was a strange procession that started out over the roughly piled ice. Jennings, with a bulky sleeping-bag strapped to his back, led the way. He was followed by a long line of dogs. On each dog’s back was securely fastened a long strip of meat. Joe brought up the rear with the other sleeping-bag.

Had an airplane passed over them as they moved forward, its pilot might have seen what seemed some huge brown worm wriggling its way in and out among the ice piles.

To their great relief the ocean staged no more demonstrations. The ice remained motionless. All day, guided by a compass, they made their way forward. Far into the night they traveled. Two hours after midnight they ate and rested, then again pushed forward.

Just as the tardy sun was rising, they heard a shot in the distance and, to their great joy, found themselves a few moments later being cheered lustily by the worn-out and starving explorers.

Soon, over a fire of bear fat, caribou meat was roasting.

When, an hour later, they started back over the trail it was with high hopes of reaching shore in safety. Yet many a mile of treacherous ice lay between them and that coveted goal.

* * * * * * * *

The sight which met Curlie Carson’s gaze as he finally mustered up courage to creep up to the corner of the food depot building and peer around it, made his blood boil hot with anger.

Before him, crouching over and placing the last contributions to a huge bonfire of excelsior, paper and packing-boxes piled against the building, was the outlaw.

“Guessed right,” Curlie told himself, “and just in time. A moment more and the thing would have been done, the house all aflame. He means to burn it, but he won’t.”

A second glance showed him the outlaw’s sled piled high and his dog team grouped about it.

“All ready to race away,” he breathed as he tightened his muscles for a spring.

It was a desperate chance. Three paces from the man a rifle leaned against the cabin. The man was between Curlie and the rifle. There was not a moment to lose.

With a snarl like a tiger Curlie sprang for the other’s back. They went crashing to the snow in a heap.

The struggle was brief and terrific. When they broke their hold Curlie was bruised and bleeding but he had gained a point—an all important point. He was now between the man and his rifle.

Quicker than a cat, he sprang for it and the next instant aimed it square at the other’s breast.

With a wild cry of terror the man turned and fled toward the shore where ice was piled in jagged heaps.

Still panting from his recent struggle, Curlie followed him slowly. He was examining the rifle. It was of a new design, totally unknown to him.

“Good thing he didn’t know I couldn’t fire it,” he breathed. “They say what you don’t know don’t hurt you. Well, that’s one time it did.”

After a moment’s struggle he discovered the rifle’s secret. He smiled as he walked out upon the ocean’s ice.

“Thinks he can hide from me. Guess he failed to notice that in this still, cold air one’s breath rises far above him. He’ll have to stop breathing if he wishes to escape.”

He walked straight toward a high ice-pile and a moment later had the pleasure of seeing a dark object dart away from it.

“I could shoot him,” he told himself. “Deserves it too. Trying to burn those supplies and leave thirty men to freeze and starve! Wonder why he did it? I’ll find out. I’ll tire him out, then capture him. After that I’ll ask him.”

But he never did.

The game of hide-and-go-seek had lasted for two hours, when the man pursued started straight across a broad expanse of ice which was smooth as a floor.

“That looks dangerous—looks like new ice,” gasped Curlie as he threw himself flat down upon it.

With his sheath knife he hacked at it until a stream of water came bubbling up and he heard the wild rush of the current that raced on beneath it.

“Not more than half an inch thick!” he breathed to himself.

The next instant he was on his feet, backing off the ice and shouting: “Hey! Hey, there! Danger! Danger! Thin ice! Dan—”

He did not complete the last word, for just at that minute there came a wild shout of despair.

Splitting from end to end, the ice caved in at the middle. For a moment the man clung to the edge, then the current seized him.

Just before he disappeared his right hand went up and a shower of “sparks,” which glimmered and glistened like stars, went shimmering away across the dark water to light upon a broad stretch of ice which had not broken.

“Diamonds!” breathed Curlie. “Diamonds and rubies from Russia! He was the smuggler chief. Wonder why he threw them that way?”

The question had no answer. Yet, there they lay, thousands of dollars worth of jewels.

“Out of a fellow’s reach for the present,” Curlie told himself, “but I guess if the ice doesn’t break up any more for a day or two it will be easy to come out and pick them out of the ice.

“And now,” he told himself, “I must get in some quick work in behalf of our friends, the explorers. With a whole reindeer herd at my disposal I ought to be able to do something.”

He walked away for a hundred yards, then paused to look back.

“It’s tough,” he told himself, “tough to be blinked out like that. No question he deserved it, but there’s so much bad in the best of us that we can well afford to feel a lot of pity for the worst of us.”

With this he turned and hurried away toward the shore.