Lost in the land of ice

“Barry! Where am I?”

This was the question which awoke the young owner of the Arrow.

He started up, to find it broad daylight, and Bob bending over him.

He had recovered from the shock of his fall during the night and had then gone to sleep, with Bob resting beside him.

“Don’t ask me where we are, Bob,” he answered. “How do you feel?”

“Better, but my side is very stiff.”

“It’s lucky the arrow didn’t go straight into your back; otherwise you would have been killed, old boy.”

Both sat up and gazed around them curiously. They had tumbled into a ravine, and at their feet ran a tiny watercourse. Above them towered the trees and brushwood of the jungle.

“Where is that terrible tiger that spotted us?” went on Bob.

“That was a jaguar, Bob, and it went off after the Patagonians and caught one, too.”

“Gosh! I don’t want him to catch me!”

“Nor I, and that being so, we had better get out of here before the beast or those Indians follow us.”

“Which way shall we go?”

“Let us follow the stream. That must flow into the ocean, and I would rather be on the sea coast than lost in this jungle.”

“So would I.”

Stiff, sore, and hungry, the two chums started down the watercourse, Bob leaning on Barry’s shoulder.

On the way they passed a number of berry bushes, but did not dare to eat the fruit for fear of being poisoned.

Nearly two miles were covered when they came in sight of the ocean at a point where there was a tall cliff split in two by the ravine they were following.

“The Atlantic!” cried Barry. “I tell you, it does a chap good to see the ocean once more.”

“See any sail?”

Barry ran up to the top of the cliff and gave a long, searching look.

“Nothing, Bob.”

“Too bad!”

“But I see something else on yonder beach which looks inviting.”

“What?”

“Oysters.”

“Good! We won’t starve just yet.”

Both made their way to the beach and were soon at work gathering up the oysters, some of which were larger than their hands.

The flavor of these oysters was rather rank, but to the starved ones nothing had ever tasted sweeter.

The water from the stream was fresh, and having eaten their fill of the bivalves, they procured a drink and then started along the seashore, hoping to get some trace of their missing friends.

Presently Bob clutched Barry by the arm.

“Hark!”

“What did you hear?”

“Voices.”

“The Patagonians?”

“No—Americans or Englishmen!”

“Perhaps it’s our crowd! Hurra——”

“Hush, Barry; I thought—get down, quick!”

Barry caught his chum by the arm and both dropped into a hollow of the cliff.

They had come to a turn of the shore, and just ahead was a little cove.

Here a sight greeted them which almost took away their breath.

In the cove rested a rowboat, and close at hand, on the beach, were Captain Fenlick, Basker, and one of the Spaniards who had helped to seize the Arrow!

“By jinks, the Arrow must be around somewhere,” muttered Barry, as he surveyed the scene.

“Right you are—but where?”

“Let us draw closer and listen to what they are talking about.”

With caution they climbed up the cliff until they were at a point almost over the heads of the party from the rowboat.

“It was a fool move,” Captain Fenlick was saying. “I think I might have gotten along without Bob Baxter after all.”

“You ought never to have sent him off,” put in Basker. “He couldn’t have hurt us, being alone against so many.”

“If I knew where the Arrow was I wouldn’t care,” went on Captain Fenlick. “But that storm must have sent her all out of her bearings.”

“Maybe she ees smashed up on de rocka,” put in the Spaniard.

“Humph! I hope not,” growled Captain Fenlick. “We’d be in a fine pickle in that case—as badly off as the party we put ashore.”

“What are we to do?”

“I don’t know—excepting to walk along the shore and keep a lookout for the Arrow.”

“I’m hungry.”

“I am verra hungry,” added the Spaniard.

Captain Fenlick brought a black bottle from his pocket.

“Take a swig of this,” he said. “But mind, not too much, for it’s got to last until we get back to the steam yacht.”

All three took a drink and then started up the side of the cliff.

They came directly for the spot where our friends were in hiding, and in a minute more Bob and Barry were discovered.

“Hullo! You!” ejaculated Captain Fenlick.

“Exactly,” replied Barry, coldly. “I thought you had sailed off,” he added.

“We came back on an errand. Where is the rest of your crowd?”

“Not far off. Where is the Arrow?”

“She is—er—a bit down the coast,” stammered Captain Fenlick. He hardly knew how to proceed.

There was an awkward pause all around. Neither Bob nor Barry knew what to do, and Captain Fenlick and his companions were in the same predicament.

“How have you been making out?” went on the captain at length.

“All right. We had a terrible storm. How did the Arrow weather it?”

“Very well,” was the reply, but the captain’s looks belied his words.

Barry saw that all three of the party were armed.

“I wish one of you would give me a pistol,” he said, boldly.

“What for? So you could shoot us when we weren’t looking?”

“No, so I could bring down some game and get a square meal. The jungle is full of birds.”

“De gooda de idee!” shouted the Spaniard. “Shoota de bird—cooka heem—eata heem—verra gooda!” And he clapped his hands. He was not a bad sort, and had gone in with Captain Fenlick more for the fun of it than for any desire to commit crime.

He was soon on the edge of the jungle, and here brought down half a dozen birds in quick succession.

Then a fire was built and the birds were cooked to a turn. But when it came to dividing up the food, Bob and Barry got but a small portion, by Captain Fenlick’s order.

There was no use to grumble, and the chums said nothing.

The meal over, Captain Fenlick stretched himself on the sand to rest, and his companions did the same.

“You stay with us,” growled the captain. “If you try to run off I’ll shoot you down as I would a dog.”

“There would be no use in our running off,” answered Barry. “Back of the jungle live a tribe of wild Patagonians—the most bloodthirsty Indians you ever saw. They wouldn’t like anything better than to get their hands upon us.” And then he told of what had happened at the village.

The tale affected Basker very much.

“In that case I move we get back to our boat,” he said. “We may want to take to the water in a hurry.”

“Oh, pshaw! don’t get scared, Basker,” growled Captain Fenlick. “I want to rest here for a while.”

So they rested an hour, during which time the sky grew dark again, as if another storm was coming up.

They were just preparing to return to the boat when a shout greeted them.

Looking up, they saw the top of the cliff crowded with Patagonians, many of whom had arrows pointed at them.

“Trapped!” roared Captain Fenlick, and pulled out his pistol.

Before he could discharge it an arrow knocked it from his hand.

The weapon fell at Barry’s feet, and in a twinkle he picked it up.

“The boat!” whispered Bob to his chum. “It is our only chance!”

And away went the pair before the others could recover from their astonishment.

The cove was gained and they leaped into the rowboat. Looking back, they saw Captain Fenlick and his companions coming after them, followed by the howling Patagonians.

Arrow after arrow was discharged, and presently the Spaniard went down, to rise no more. Another arrow passed through Basker’s cap.

The oars were in the rowboat, and tossing the pistol to Bob, Barry caught up the blades and commenced to row swiftly.

“Stop! Take us on board!” roared Captain Fenlick. “Don’t leave us behind!”

“Not much!” answered Barry. “You left us behind before. Now you shall have a dose of the same medicine.”

Soon the rowboat was at the mouth of the cove, and making straight for the Atlantic.

But the Patagonians continued to aim arrows at the craft, and one of these hit Barry in the leg.

Then in a rage Basker pointed his pistol at Bob’s head.

“All right if you won’t come back!” he shouted. And then he fired at those in the boat.