Lost in the land of ice

Lying in the bunk in the forecastle, Bob heard nothing of the talk between Captain Fenlick and the negro cook of the Vixen.

But soon he heard footsteps approaching, and then came words in the voice of Basker.

“Let us take a look around the fo’castle, cap’n,” the burly sailor was saying. “He might have run in here, ye know.”

“If he did I’ll wax him good!” roared Captain Fenlick. He had picked up a rope’s-end, and now swung it around in his hand as if he meant business. Bob saw the pair approaching, and promptly dived out of sight under some bedding and a blanket. The smell was vile, but this could not be helped.

The two men came in and began to peer around, first in one corner and then another.

“Don’t see anything of him,” remarked Basker, presently, and when within two feet of Bob.

“Let us turn over some of these bunks,” answered the captain of the Vixen. “Some boys are regular rats for hiding.”

“Perhaps he jumped overboard.”

“Not much—he’s too much afraid of his life. He’s a regular coward.”

“Thank you for nothing!” muttered Bob to himself. “You’ll see if I’m a coward if you find me and try to cut me with that rope’s-end. I’ll give you as good as you send if I die for it!” and he shut his teeth determinedly.

Captain Fenlick approached the bunk in which Bob was lying, and grabbed hold of the blanket.

“If he——” he began, and then stopped short. “What’s that?”

“Somebody on deck is calling you,” said Basker.

“Captain Fenlick!” was the call. “You’re wanted. A steam yacht is following us.”

“The dickens!” growled the captain, as he started for the doorway. “A steam yacht? Can it be the Arrow?”

He ran out of the forecastle and straight for the main deck. Basker lingered for a few seconds longer, then followed his superior.

Bob listened to the cry from the deck with interest not unmixed with delight.

“A yacht is following,” he murmured. “Oh, I hope it is the Arrow, and that Barry is able to bring these scoundrels to justice!”

The heat in the stuffy forecastle was, for him, unbearable, and at his first opportunity he slid from the bunk and tiptoed his way to one of the bull’s-eye lights open at the side of the apartment. From here he could get some fresh air, and likewise see what was going on.

Captain Fenlick was at the rail, with a spy-glass in his hand, and near by stood Basker.

“She’s the Arrow, right enough,” he heard the captain mutter. “We have got to crowd on steam if we want to leave her behind.”

“And you’ve got to crowd on a whole lot of it, too, to my way of thinking,” muttered Bob. “She’ll catch you, and don’t you forget it.”

Nobody came near the forecastle for over an hour, and during that time Bob remained at the little window drinking in the sea air, for the Vixen was now running directly for the ocean. So far the sun had been shining, but now the lad noticed that a haze was coming up.

“It’s going to be foggy,” he mused. “That will make chasing bad. I wish I could slip overboard and signal the Arrow to pick me up.”

The more he thought of this plan the more did it appeal to him, until at last Bob determined to leap overboard at the first opportunity.

“Both ships are running straight for sea, and the Arrow is bound to come directly for me,” he concluded. “I can keep afloat easily enough till picked up, if I can get hold of a life preserver.”

A short while after this a sailor came on the run and darted into the forecastle before Bob had a chance to get out of sight.

“Hullo, what you do here?” asked the sailor, who was a big Swede.

“Taking it easy,” answered Bob, as coolly as he could.

“You de boy what de cap’n look for, hey?”

“Perhaps I am and perhaps I am not.”

“Vat’s dat? I no lak you make fun by me,” growled the sailor.

“Better talk United States, Dutchy,” grinned Bob. “How’s the weather outside?”

“Weather git much foggy. But say, you de boy de cap’n want catch, hey?”

“What do you want to know for?”

“I tell cap’n, dat’s all,” cried the Swede, and ran out as rapidly as he had come in.

“Now I am in for it!” thought Bob. Then his face changed. “Not much!” And he went out after the sailor. He did not follow the Swede far, however, but darted behind the forecastle.

At the rail rested several life preservers and a coil of rope. The rope was fast to one of the preservers, and the other preservers were tied up by strings.

While Bob was busy obtaining one of the life preservers, he heard a shout, and saw Captain Fenlick bearing down upon him.

“Hi! hi! you imp!” roared the master of the Vixen. “So I’ve found you at last, have I? I’ll wax you good for breaking out of the hold! Come here.”

“Not to-day!” retorted Bob, and with the life preserver in his hand, he darted for the stern of the steamer.

Captain Fenlick made after him instantly, and a chase ensued to the very rear rail of the Vixen.

“If you don’t come back I’ll shoot you!” roared the captain.

“I don’t think you will,” answered Bob, and then balancing himself on the stern rail, he measured his distance and dived straight into the spume which the Vixen was leaving in her wake.

“Overboard!” gasped the master of the steamer, and gazed anxiously at the water. But Bob had taken a fine dive, and despite the life preserver, he remained hidden until the steamer was a good hundred feet away from him. Then he bobbed up like a cork, and shook the water from his head.

“Stop the steamer!” yelled Captain Fenlick. “That boy shan’t escape me.”

But it was no easy matter to stop such a large craft going at such a rate of speed, and before it could be accomplished the daring lad was nearly out of sight in the fog, which was growing denser every moment.

“Will you lower a boat?” asked Basker, who had tried to come to his superior’s assistance.

“Yes—no,” answered Captain Fenlick. “Hang the luck! If I lower a boat it may be captured by those on board the Arrow!”

“Right ye are, cap’n. If I was you I’d let the boy go.”

“Yes, but——”

“You’ve got the red book. What more do you want?”

“I wanted him to explain certain things in the book. He was in with that Jasper Powell, and he knows a good bit that isn’t in the book.”

“The fog is getting so thick that it’s dangerous,” went on Basker. “Look! You can’t make out the Arrow any more.”

“You’re about right. Ha! I have a thought. That boy evidently expected to be picked up by the Arrow. I wonder if those on board saw him leap overboard?”

“Not likely—they are still too far off.”

“Then I’ll sheer off to the southward, and put them off the track. In this fog I can readily go a bit close to them and then hide again.”

And at once Captain Fenlick turned to put his plan into execution.

In the mean time Bob was adjusting the life preserver under his arms. Once this was accomplished, he floated with ease, and then he began to watch out for the approach of the Arrow.

“She ought to come up in a few minutes,” he told himself. “And as soon as I see her I’ll have to do some tall yelling—the fog is getting so thick.”

Several anxious minutes went by. He saw the Vixen move away, but never dreamed that her course had been changed.

Then came a thump-thump from a distance, and he knew the Arrow was approaching.

“Hi, help!” he yelled, at the top of his lungs. “Barry Filmore—help!”

The Arrow seemed to be coming closer, and he continued to yell.

“Help, Barry Filmore! It’s Bob Baxter, in the water! Help!”

He listened. What was that? The Arrow was passing to his left, instead of coming toward him! He would not be seen, after all.

Bob’s heart almost stopped beating at the thought, and again he raised his voice, louder, if possible, than before:

“Help! help!”

But no answer came back—only the sound of the swiftly-moving steam yacht, now farther off than ever. He strained his ears, refusing to believe his senses. Was he to be left alone there on the broad bosom of the ocean? The thought was maddening.

“Help! For the love of heaven, help!”

It was a last, despairing cry, and it was followed by absolute silence, for the Arrow had now passed out of hearing distance.

Bob raised himself up as far as possible and waited until the rolling of the sea carried him to the top of a wave which seemed mountainous. He gazed around him.

“Alone!” he cried, as his staring eyes met nothing but the water and the fog around him. “Deserted! What will become of me now?”

There was no answer to that question—only the mockery of the intense silence. The ocean rolled on in majestic swells and the fog continued to thicken. At one instant he found himself high in the air, the next he would go down and down, until the overtopping waves seemed ready to engulf him.

“I’m lost!” he thought, and gave a groan. “Nothing can save me now!”