Lost in the land of ice

After a long talk between Barry and Bob it was decided that for the present Bob should remain on board of the Arrow. Barry would stay at the Astor House in New York until he and his lawyer had settled the claim against Jasper Powell’s estate.

The fire at the warehouse had produced many complications in a business way, and it was held by the authorities that the conflagration had been started by the strange boy who had escaped down the ladder after Barry.

The detectives did their best to find Bob, but Barry gave Bob the tip, as it is called, and the latter wisely kept out of sight.

“It will only make more trouble if you expose yourself,” said Barry.

“But what about the money old Powell had, which was coming to me?”

“Wait until we see how Powell was fixed,” answered Barry.

At the end of two weeks affairs were fairly well straightened out.

It was found that Jasper Powell had used some money, but only a few thousand dollars were missing from the Filmore fortune, so that Barry would still be a millionaire when he became of age.

There was a matter of two thousand dollars coming to one Bob Baxter, “said to be missing,” by the court.

“If I were you I’d stay missing for the present,” said Barry. “The money is safe so long as it is in the hands of the law.”

The lawyer in New York was appointed Barry’s guardian, but he was a whole-souled fellow and was willing to let Barry do as he pleased.

When the young man spoke about the trip to the South Pole he shook his head over the idea.

“It will prove a voyage full of unknown perils,” he said. “Take my advice, and give it up.”

But Barry was determined, and a few days later the Arrow left the dock in Brooklyn and sailed for Philadelphia, where she was to put up at the Standard Ship Yard for steel plates and additional bracing inside.

In the mean time Barry had run across an old sea captain named Robert Gordon, who had sailed around Cape Horn a number of times and who knew the coast of South America well, and this old sea dog had agreed to participate in the trip toward the South Pole.

With Gordon came several sailors who were used to the roughest and toughest life at sea, and who agreed to go anywhere on a trip to last not over three years.

All told, the Arrow carried a crew of ten, including Pat Caven, previously mentioned, and Gus Stults, the German cook, as good-natured a fellow as could be met anywhere.

Stults soon made friends with Bob and the two became very intimate.

“Ve vos like brudders, hey?” he said one day. “Ve vos git along, I bet you, py chiminy!” And Bob laughed and said he hoped they would get along.

But if Bob liked Gus Stults, he cordially detested Pat Caven, not because he was Irish—Bob had a bit of Irish blood in him himself—but because Pat Caven was a natural born sneak. Caven was forever listening to the talk of others, and Bob once caught him at it when Barry was telling Captain Gordon in private about the lost treasure ship.

“You had better be at your work, Caven,” said the youth, severely. “You’ll never hear any good of yourself by playing the listener,” and Caven slunk away, but with a look that Bob did not readily forget.

When Philadelphia was reached the Arrow was immediately dry-docked and the work of plating her bow and sides with steel begun. Her ribs were all strengthened, and likewise her keel, to resist the pressure of any ice she might have to cut through, and she was also provided with a new and extra heavy screw, the old one being stored in her hold, to be used in case the other became lost or broken.

While this was going on the provisions and coal for the long trip were purchased. When out of the dry-dock and loaded she sat deep in the water, for even her deck carried such bags of coal as could not be stored elsewhere.

One day, just before the Arrow was ready to sail, Pat Caven went ashore and made his way along the shipping until he came to where a small “tramp” steamer lay, one which had been engaged in the South American and South African trade.

A week before he had learned that Captain Fenlick had obtained command of the Vixen, as the steamer was called, and was about to take her on a trip to Rio de Janeiro, South America.

Caven knew Fenlick well, having sailed under the captain some years before.

The two had once been companions in a smuggling expedition, which, however, had fallen through at the last minute.

“We sail day after to-morrow,” said Caven to Fenlick. “I heard Filmore tell Captain Gordon.”

“And what is the first stopping place?”

“Pernambuco, Brazil.”

“Ha! that is where we stop, too,” cried the captain of the Vixen. “I am glad you told me, Pat.”

“I knew you’d keep track of the yacht,” grinned Caven.

“Have you found out anything about the red book?”

“No; young Filmore keeps it in his safe, I am afther thinkin’, although I am not certain.”

“If we had that book we might make our fortunes, Pat.”

“How?”

“Never mind. We could make piles of money, I am sure of it.”

“I heard something about a treasure ship near the South Pole.”

“Yes, that’s the secret, and the red book tells all about it. Filmore and that young Baxter are going after it, I reckon.”

“They are afther something.”

“I wish I could collar young Baxter,” went on Captain Fenlick, savagely. “I might get the book through him.”

“How?”

“Oh, easy.”

“By threatening him?”

“You’ve struck it. I reckon he would rather give up the book than suffer.”

“Sure, an’ I think so meself,” laughed Caven. “Well, it’s easy to be afther doing.”

“You mean to collar him?”

“Yis.”

“How?”

“Barry Filmore goes off to-night to visit some old friend near Fairmount Park. When he’s gone ye can send a bogus letter to young Baxter, and——”

“Just the idea, Pat! I’ll do it. You must let me know as soon as Barry Filmore leaves the yacht.”

“I will let yez know.”

The two conversed for half an hour and had several drinks, and then Pat Caven returned to the Arrow.

Captain Gordon was away looking after some matters of business, and shortly after Caven came back Barry departed.

“I’ll be back by ten, Bob,” he said.

“All right,” returned Bob, carelessly. “I think I’ll take a cold bath; somehow I can’t get used to this warm weather.”

“Hankering after your room at the cold-storage plant, eh?”

“It must be that. I feel as if I was in an oven all the time.”

“You’ll get cold enough when we reach the South Pole. But I am afraid you’ll suffer in the journey across the equator. The thermometer goes up over a hundred at the line, you know.”

“Great Scott! there will be nothing left of me but a grease spot,” sighed Bob.

“Oh, well, we’ll cool you off in the ice box if you get too warm,” laughed Barry, and then left his chum to himself.

One of the comforts of the Arrow was an elegantly fitted up bathroom, with shower bath and all, and it did not take Bob long to disrobe and plunge into the water, which he used as cold as he could get it.

He was just enjoying the shower bath when Caven knocked on the door.

“What’s wanted?”

“A message for you,” announced the Irish sailor.

“All right,” answered Bob, and opened the door a few inches, so that Caven could give him the communication.

It was in lead pencil and ran as follows:

“Bob: I forgot the book. Bring it to me, up at the Rosemore Hotel. Have met an old friend who knows all about the Southern Ocean and South America, and I want him to give me some pointers. Come as soon as possible.

Barry.”

Bob read the note with interest. He was not familiar with Barry’s handwriting, otherwise he would have known that the communication was a forgery.

He dressed as rapidly as possible and then entered the general room of the yacht, where the ship’s safe was located.

Barry had given him the combination of the lock and he opened the door without trouble.

With the precious book tucked away in an inner pocket of his jacket, he went on deck.

“I am going off to meet Mr. Filmore,” he said to the sailor in charge of the yacht. “You must take care of things till Captain Gordon gets back.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” said the sailor, and touched his forelock.

Bob knew where the Rosemore Hotel was located, and to get there the quicker decided to take a street car running in that direction.

He had to walk several blocks to the thoroughfare upon which the cars ran and the way lay along a particularly dark street lined with low saloons and tenement houses.

Just as he was passing an alleyway two men rushed out upon him.

“Here he is!” said one of the men, and hurled himself on Bob.

Taken unawares, the lad fought as best he could, but hardly had he struck the first man when the second hit him a cruel blow on the head, rendering him unconscious.

Then the two men carried him into the alleyway and up to the top floor of one of the tenements.

Here he was dropped on the floor and his hands and feet were securely bound.

Poor Bob was a prisoner of the enemy.