First at the North Pole: or, Two Boys in the Arctic Circle

At last, just as he was about to shoot off his gun as a signal of distress, he found one of the blazes, and a minute later discovered another. He now had the proper direction in mind, and set off as rapidly as his weary limbs and the ever-increasing depth of snow would permit.

“Hullo, Chet! Where are you?”

It was a call from Andy, sounding out just as the young hunter came in sight of the campfire. Andy was growing anxious, and had come forth from the shelter several times in an endeavor to locate his chum.

“Here I am,” was the answer. “Christopher, but I’m tired!”

“Any luck?”

“A little. How are those for wild turkeys?”

“Fine! Now we’ll have a good breakfast, anyway.”

“How is Mr. Dawson?”

“He says he feels pretty easy. But his ankle is badly swollen. Say, he’s a splendid man, and one of the greatest hunters you ever heard of, Chet. And he’s rich, too – he owns a ranch out West and a bungalow down on the Jersey coast, and a yacht, and I don’t know what all.”

“You can tell him I brought down the moose he wounded.”

“What!” And Andy’s eyes showed his astonishment.

“It’s true. The moose almost laid me low first, but I got the best of him after all.”

“Where is the animal?”

“About a quarter of a mile from here. I covered him with snow, and put a stick and my handkerchief over the spot.”

“Did he attack you?”

“He certainly did,” answered Chet.

Both boys entered the temporary shelter. Barwell Dawson was awake, and he and Andy listened with keen attention to the story Chet had to tell.

“It must have been the moose I hit,” said Barwell Dawson. “But I think he’s your game anyway, Chet.”

“Well, we can divide up,” answered the young hunter, modestly.

The tramp in the snow, and the excitement, had made Chet weary, and he was glad enough to lie down and go to sleep. During his absence, Andy had cut more pine boughs and piled them around the sides and on top of the shelter, so it was now fairly cozy, although not nearly as good as a cabin would have been.

In the morning Andy was the first to stir. He found the entrance to the shelter blocked by snow, and the campfire was all but out. The snow had stopped coming down, but the air seemed to be still full of it.

“We’ve got to get out of here, or we’ll be snowed in for certain,” he told Chet, and then kicked the snow aside and started up the fire, and commenced to get breakfast. They cooked one of the wild turkeys, and it proved delicious eating to the lads, although Mr. Dawson thought the meat a trifle strong.

The man who had had the tumble over the cliff declared that he felt quite like himself, aside from his ankle, which still pained him. The swelling of the member had gone down some, which was a good sign.

“I guess your uncle will wonder what has become of you,” said Chet to Andy. “I suppose he’ll hunt all over the village for you.”

“Let him hunt, Chet. I am not going back until I find out about that timber land, and about what sort of man that Hopton is. The more I think of it, the more I’m convinced that Mr. A. Q. Hopton is a swindler and is trying to swindle both Uncle Si and myself.”

“Well, it’s no credit to your uncle to stand in with him.”

“Of course it isn’t – and I’ll give Uncle Si a piece of my mind when I get the chance.”

“I don’t think you’re going to get to Lodgeport today.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter much. I don’t think there is any great hurry about this business. The matter has rested ever since father died.”

This talk took place outside the shelter, so Barwell Dawson did not hear it. Inside, the man dressed his ankle, while the boys cleared away the remains of the morning meal, and started the fire afresh with more pine sticks.

“We really ought to try to get out of here,” said Andy, after an hour had passed. “I think it will snow again by night, and it would be rough to be snow-bound in such a place as this.”

“I’d like to get out myself, but I am afraid I can’t walk,” said Barwell Dawson, with a sigh. “A bruised ankle is worse than a broken arm – when it comes to traveling,” he added, with a grim smile.

“Supposing we took turns at carrying you?” suggested Chet. “I think we could do it.”

“How far?”

“Well, we might try for a cabin that is about three-quarters of a mile from here. We’d be far more comfortable at the cabin than here, – and maybe you could get some liniment for your bruises.”

“Well, I’m willing to try it if you are,” answered Mr. Dawson, who did not like the temporary shelter any better than did the boys.

Preparations were accordingly made, and half an hour later the party of three set off. It was agreed that Chet should first do the carrying of the hurt one, and Andy brought up the rear with the guns, game bags, and other things.

CHAPTER VIII – A TALK OF IMPORTANCE

The cabin for which the little party was headed was one owned by a man named Upham Jeffer. This man was something of a hermit and scientist, and rarely showed himself in the settlements of that vicinity. But on two occasions Chet had done Professor Jeffer a good turn, and he was, therefore, hoping they would get a cordial reception.

But just now, the main question was, Could they reach the Jeffer place? The boys had the way fairly well fixed in their heads, but walking was hard and treacherous. On the level, the snow was at least a foot deep, while they ran the risk of going down in deep hollows filled by the wind.

“Anyway, I’m glad the wind is on our backs,” said Andy, as they trudged along. “If it was in our faces it would be awful.”

“You must take frequent rests,” came from Barwell Dawson. “There is no use in exhausting yourselves by hurrying.”

When about one-quarter of the distance had been covered, they rested, and then Chet and Andy exchanged loads. They had now some rough ground to cover, and of a sudden Andy went down in a hollow, taking the man he was carrying with him.

“Be careful!” cried Chet, in alarm.

Andy and Mr. Dawson rolled over and over, and landed in snow up to their necks. Fortunately the fall was a soft one, or both might have been seriously injured.

Chet threw down his load, and aided the pair to get out of the hollow. Andy came out with a neck full of snow, and his coat half off his back.

“Say, I don’t want any more of that!” he panted, digging the snow from one ear.

In a few minutes they went on again, Chet with the outfit taking the lead. Progress was slow, and all were glad to rest when the top of a small rise was gained.

“There is the Jeffer cabin,” said Chet, pointing it out.

“I don’t see any smoke,” added Andy. “What shall we do if Professor Jeffer isn’t at home?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s away,” answered his chum. “But even so, I guess he’ll let us use the place – in such a snow as this.”

“We can pay him for the accommodations,” put in Barwell Dawson. “I’ll take care of that.”

It was nearly noon when they gained the cabin, rather a large structure, set in a grove of pines, and on the edge of a brook that was now covered with snow and ice. Chet, who was in advance, knocked loudly on the door.

At first there was no answer. Then a low voice asked who was there.

“It is I, Chet Greene, Professor.”

“Oh! Come in – if you can get the door open.”

Chet tried the door – to find it bolted. Then he heard a movement within, and the barrier was opened.

“Oh, I thought you were alone,” said the man within. He was tall and thin, and wore a heavy beard and big spectacles.

“No, Professor Jeffer. This is my friend, Andy Graham, and this is a gentleman who fell over Moose Ridge cliff and got hurt. Can we bring him in?”

“Why, yes, certainly, of course!” cried Upham Jeffer. “Hurt, eh? Where?”

“He has a bruised ankle, and some cuts on his head.”

“I see. Well, bring him in, and what remedies I have on hand shall be at his service. I’m a bit sick myself – been making some experiments with nitrogen that didn’t agree with me. You see, I reasoned out that if nitrogen could be dissolved by means of – ”

“Where can I place the gentleman?” broke in Chet, who knew Upham Jeffer’s weakness for going off into scientific discussions.

“Oh, yes, of course, I forgot. Why, place him anywhere. Make yourselves at home.” The old scientist looked around rather helplessly. “There is my medicine closet. Use whatever you can find there.”

He was really a fine old man, but so wrapped up in his scientific experiments that he paid little attention to the world at large, or what was going on around him. He was very learned, but apt to be forgetful to the last degree. He lived alone, and it was reported that he had a goodly sum in the bank. Certainly he never seemed to want for funds, although his mode of living was far from extravagant.

Barwell Dawson was placed in an easy-chair in the living apartment, and the professor busied himself in getting out some medicine and a liniment which he said would do much good.

“Shall I start up the fire?” asked Andy, who saw that the blaze had been allowed to die down.

“Why, yes, of course! I forgot all about the fire,” answered Upham Jeffer. “You see, when I get interested in my experiments, I usually – ” And then he stopped talking, being busy measuring some medicine in a glass.

Andy stirred up the fire, and brought in some wood from a pile in a near-by shed. In the meantime Chet introduced Barwell Dawson to the old scientist.

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