Lost in the land of ice

“Ugh!”

The grunt came from Captain Gordon, as he slowly turned over and staggered up. Then, in dazed fashion, he gazed at the two prostrate figures before him.

“Are you dead?” he questioned, hoarsely.

“I—I reckon not!” came from Bob, with an odd gulp. “But that was awful, wasn’t it!”

“Is the—the yacht on fire?” put in Barry, as he, too, sat up. His body felt as if a thousand needles had been stuck into it.

“I’ll see,” answered the captain, and reeled off like a drunken man. Soon the two chums followed him, with white, set faces, for the shock had been terrific and was not to be easily forgotten.

But the Arrow was safe, for the time being, having lost nothing more than a bit of the top-mast and a portion of her starboard railing. Several sailors were set to work to clear away the wreckage, and then Bob and Barry limped down into the cabin.

The thunder and lightning continued and all told the storm lasted for six hours. In spite of himself, the awful pitching of the yacht made Bob seasick, and before the blow was over he had to take to his berth.

“I feel as if I was being turned inside out,” he told Barry. “And I never thought I would get sick!” And he turned his face to the wall to hide his misery.

“Never mind; the best of us get sick at times,” answered Barry. “If I remember rightly, you ate an extra heavy dinner last evening.”

When the storm had cleared away they were in sight of the coast of Porto Rico, and a few hours later they sped into the harbor of San Juan, the capital city.

Fortunately, Barry had brought considerable money with him, so there was no delay on that score, and soon the bunkers of the Arrow were being filled with coal. Coal was also placed in bags in other convenient spots. While this was going on the cook went ashore and bought up all necessary provisions.

By noon of the next day they were off again, and soon the steam yacht was skirting the southwestern coast of the Leeward Islands, on the trip to Cayenne, in French Guiana. The weather remained hot but clear, and they made rapid progress.

“The Arrow is a splendid yacht at sea,” remarked Barry, one day. “I was afraid she wouldn’t stand it, being built mostly for coast and inland travel, but she takes to the ocean as naturally as a duck does to a mill-pond.”

The run to Cayenne occurred without special incident. At this city Bob and Barry took a run ashore, lasting several hours—a run which was full of interest. The city was filled with Frenchmen, Spaniards, and South American Indians, and was as bustling as it was dirty.

“And now straight for Pernambuco!” cried the owner of the Arrow, as the anchor came up and the engines were started.

“And may we soon get out of this all-fired hot weather!” returned Bob. “I tell you, Barry, it’s fearful. Why, the thermometer registered a hundred and eighteen in the shade yesterday. I thought I was being cooked in the open air!”

“Well, you must remember we are only a few hundred miles above the equator, Bob—the hottest place in the whole world. I think you had better crawl into that ice-box for a few days, I really do!” And Barry gave a laugh.

“It’s no joke!” grumbled Bob. “Some day you’ll wake up to find a grease spot in my berth. That will be what’s left of me.” And he sauntered off, to lie down in a shady spot, with some cracked ice in a canvas bag for a pillow, and with some iced lime water in a bottle with which to quench his constantly raging thirst.

As they drew closer to the equator a lively breeze sprang up, otherwise Bob must have suffered still more. The wind was in the Arrow’s favor, and before many days Cape St. Roque was sighted, on the extreme eastern shore of Brazil. From here the run was due south down the coast to Pernambuco, and late one afternoon they ran into the harbor of that lively little seaport city.

As soon as possible, Bob and Barry went ashore and made inquiries concerning the Vixen. Nothing had been seen or heard of the tramp steamer.

“She has given us the slip!” groaned Bob.

“Perhaps not,” returned Barry. “She may be taking her time to get here—not knowing that we are after her.”

“That is true. What do you propose?”

“That we remain here for a few days and see if anything turns up.”

As there seemed nothing else to do they remained in Pernambuco, the yacht in the mean while coaling up again and getting in another stock of provisions.

During the days spent on shipboard since leaving San Juan, in Porto Rico, Pat Caven had managed to overhear much of the talk between Bob, Barry, and Captain Gordon, and he, consequently, knew that those on the Arrow were waiting for Captain Fenlick, with the intention of accusing him of the abduction of Bob, and the theft of the precious red book.

“If they catch the cap’n, sure an’ they’ll be afther makin’ it warm fer him,” mused Caven. “If he comes in here I must try to warn him before they know he’s here.”

Caven knew something of the people to whom the cargo in the Vixen was assigned, and he went to see them and ask them if they knew anything of the steamer’s movements.

They said they knew nothing, but were looking for the steamer every day.

Much disappointed, the Irish sailor turned to walk away. As he did so he caught sight of Captain Fenlick at a distant corner of the street, and he ran to meet his man.

“Caven!” cried the master of the Vixen. “I was hoping to meet you.”

“An’ I was hopin’ to set eyes on you,” rejoined the Irish sailor. “Have ye brought yer ship in here?”

“No.”

“It’s good ye didn’t, fer Barry Filmore an’ Bob Baxter are after ye.”

“I was afraid of it. So Filmore picked Baxter up after he left the Vixen?”

“He did, an’ they are both down on ye an’ layin’ up a lot av trouble for ye.”

Captain Fenlick grated his teeth.

“I wish they were both dead!” he muttered.

“I thought ye wanted some information from Baxter.”

“So I do; but if he was dead I’d try to get along without it.”

Captain Fenlick wished to know all about the doings on board of the Arrow, and Caven gave him the particulars.

“My ship is up at Natal, undergoing a few repairs,” he said. “I thought I would come down here on horseback, to see if the coast was clear. When is the Arrow going to sail?”

“I don’t know. Filmore is waiting fer you.”

The two talked the matter over and then repaired to a French saloon, where they had several drinks.

It was agreed that Caven should keep a close watch on Bob and Barry, and report to Captain Fenlick if anything new turned up.

Another day slipped by, and Bob and Barry took it into their heads to take a ride around the vicinity of Pernambuco on horseback.

“Nothing like seeing a new country when you have the chance,” said the rich young man.

“That’s so, too,” answered Bob. “Yet I am anxious to get to the South Pole—or near it,” and he gave something of a sigh. Behind it all he was very anxious to learn if his father was still alive. The treasure ship was of secondary importance.

A mile outside of Pernambuco they stopped at a wayside inn for some refreshments.

What was their astonishment on entering the inn to find themselves confronted by Captain Fenlick and his ever-ready tool, Basker!

“What, you!” stammered the master of the Vixen.

“Captain Fenlick!” shouted Bob. “You rascal!” And running up he caught the captain by the arm.

“Let go of me!” came in a snarl. “Let go, boy!”

“I will—not!” retorted Bob. “You’ll remember we are on land now. You are my prisoner!”

“Ha! ha! Boy, you talk like a fool!” answered the captain, yet he looked much disturbed.

“Don’t you dare to make trouble for the captain!” broke in Basker. “He’s done nothing to you.”

“That is for a court of law to decide,” said Barry. “Who are you?”

“He is the fellow who helped Fenlick make me a prisoner,” said Bob.

“Then he is a villain, too, and must come along,” went on Barry, and caught hold of Basker with a grip that was like steel, for the young owner of the Arrow was a thorough athlete.