Lost over Greenland

CHAPTER XXI

LOST

How long it was before he came back to consciousness, Slim Tyler never knew.

He woke to find himself lying on his back, with dense darkness all about him. For a long time his dazed senses failed to take in the situation in which he found himself.

"Wonder how long I've been sleeping?" he asked himself confusedly. "Why hasn't Jerry waked me up? He needs sleep as much as I do. He's been having a long spell at the controls. Time I relieved the old boy."

He tried to rise, but sank back with a groan of pain.

"Must be those auk bites," he murmured. "Hope there wasn't any poison in them. Thought I used plenty of iodine, though. Gee, but this bed is cold!"

He put out his hand and felt ice. The shock aroused him.

"What in thunder!" he exclaimed, as he felt about him for some of the familiar objects of the plane.

His hands encountered only empty air.

Then in a flash it all came back to him—the study of the instruments, his suggestion to Jerry that they rise higher, the black mass looming up, the crash!

They had struck, then. Hit the mountain side and gone down. The Hope was gone. And Jerry! And Dick! Good old Jerry and Dick! Where were they? Slim Tyler groaned in anguish.

His own awful plight for the moment hardly interested him. It was the fate of his companions that tore at his soul. He was at least alive. But they?

"Lying dead, perhaps," he moaned. "Or, still worse, perhaps maimed for life."

So this was the end of the expedition on which he had placed such high hopes, in the working out of which he had encountered and overcome so many perils!

All wasted! Sheer waste! The bitter sarcasm of it! Coming on a mission of rescue and now himself a derelict!

But Slim Tyler did not spend long in these soul-searing reflections. His indomitable will awoke and stirred him to action.

How did he know that his companions were dead? he asked himself. He himself had escaped with life. Might not they have had equal luck? He must look for them, and at once.

By a tremendous effort he brought himself to a sitting position. He could not repress a groan as he did so. He was bruised and sore all over.

He flexed his arms, though the operation caused him intense agony. But at least they obeyed his will. They were not broken.

He felt his legs gingerly. No broken bones there!

A surge of hope thrilled through his veins. He was not crippled, doomed to freeze or starve until death should come to his relief!

With infinite pain and effort he managed to get upon his feet. Then he applied himself to rubbing himself vigorously until the numbness left his limbs and he was able to move about, though haltingly.

Even though he could move about, he had not found freedom of action. For the night wrapped about him like a blanket. He could hardly see his hand before his face. For all he knew, he might be on the brink of a precipice. The first step forward might hurl him down into a chasm hundreds of feet deep.

Inaction was maddening, but it would be sheer insanity to attempt to move forward in that darkness. There was no alternative. He must wait till daylight broke.

How long would that be? He had not the slightest idea how long he had lain there unconscious. He took out his watch and held it to his ear. It had stopped.

He summoned all his stoicism and steeled himself to the hardest task in the world—to wait!

In those dreary hours of waiting he had plenty of time to take stock of his situation. The inventory was depressing.

As far as he knew, he was alone—alone in thousands of square miles of uninhabited, ice-clad territory.

Even if his strength held out, he might wander over it for months without coming in contact with a human soul.

But how could his strength hold out? He had no food and no way of getting any. Already the pangs of hunger were assailing him.

There were of course provisions in the Hope. But where was the Hope? Perhaps at the bottom of some inaccessible chasm. Perhaps it had caught fire in the crash and been consumed. It might have gone down one slope of the mountain, while he himself had been cast down another.

While he was immersed in these gloomy reflections the night wore itself away. With the first glimmer of light that came from the east, Slim Tyler looked with straining eyes about him.

He found himself on an icy plateau at the bottom of a mountain slope. Not ten feet in front of him was a yawning crevasse leading down to an unknown depth. Similar gorges were in evidence everywhere. A more forbidding, dreary, desolate landscape could not have been imagined.

Nothing familiar met Slim's eyes. No Jerry Marbury! No Dick Mylert! No plane!

He was lost! Lost in Greenland!

CHAPTER XXII

THE SHOT

Slim Tyler had cherished the hope that daylight would reveal the plane, or what remained of it after its collision with the cliff. Even if wrecked, he might recover from it provisions to keep himself alive for a time and weapons with which to secure game later on.

The fact that he could discern no trace of it was at first a bitter disappointment. Yet, as he pondered the matter, there came a slight upspringing of hope.

How did he know that the plane had smashed? Might not Jerry, despite the damage it must have sustained, have managed to keep it aloft?

The shock, to be sure, had been violent enough to throw him, Slim Tyler, out of the fuselage. But his companions might have had better luck, and the Hope itself might have survived. If this were true, he knew that they would search for him unceasingly until they found him.

This was the bright side of the picture. Down deep in his heart he felt almost certain that the Hope had gone down.

But if so, where was it? Why had it not fallen at practically the same spot in which he found himself?

The answer might be found in the great gorges that seamed the plateau. He shuddered as he looked at them. At the bottom of one of them the Hope at this moment might be lying, far from human sight, a crumpled mass with the dead bodies of Dick Mylert and Jerry Marbury in the wreckage.

How had he himself survived? Why had he not been killed by his fall?

A glance at the mountain side gave him the answer. He had not fallen like a plummet through space. He had been flung out on an icy slope, through which protruded at frequent intervals clumps of bushes and shrubbery that had flourished during the brief summer season.

These, no doubt, had broken his fall. His progress down the slippery slope had been checked at intervals until he had finally brought up at the bottom, horribly bruised and sore, but with all his bones intact.

The tufts of shrubbery gave him an idea. They might serve as hand holds and enable him to make his way to the top. From there, on the other side of the mountain, he might discern some traces of the catastrophe.

He girded himself for the effort and began to climb. In his condition it was a frightful task. For every three feet he went up, he slipped back at least one. Every muscle of his body clamored its weariness and pain.

But the stuff of which heroes are made was in Slim Tyler, and at last he reached the coveted summit.

From there he could see for many miles in every direction. It was a scene of magnificent grandeur that met his eyes. As far as the eye could reach were ice-capped mountains, valleys and gorges, gleaming in the morning sun.

But its sublimity made no appeal to Slim Tyler in his present state of mind. To him it was only a magnificent tomb, in which he might find his eternal rest, as perhaps his cherished comrades had already found it.

He strained his eyes for some sign of the Hope, But the region was a sealed book. There was nothing in it that he could read. If the mountains and gorges knew anything, they kept the secret.

Bitterly disappointed, Slim Tyler left his point of vantage. The cliffs on the other side of the mountain were almost perpendicular. He must return by the way he had come.

Reaching once more the plateau, Slim tied a handkerchief to a clump of bushes so that its fluttering might attract attention, in case one of his companions or a wandering trapper should come that way. To it he pinned a page of his notebook, on which he scribbled a few lines, telling of the disaster and urging that search should be made for him and his companions.

Then he set out on his journeyings. He had no plan of action. Under the circumstances he could have none. One path was as good as another. All he knew was that he must keep moving.

Otherwise he would freeze. In motion there was hope. It would engross his mind, keep him from going mad. And there was always the chance that he might stumble on some traces of Jerry and Dick.

Then, too, there was that camp that he thought he had discerned just before the fog closed in on the plane.

Was it really a camp? Or was it a mere figment of his imagination? And if it existed, in what direction did it lay?

He had not the least idea. It might be east, west, north, or south from where he was at present. Every step he took might be bringing him nearer to it or taking him farther from it. It was a pure gamble, in which he had one chance out of four.

He progressed but slowly. At times he had to make wide detours to get about the crevasses in the ice that criss-crossed the plateau in all directions. The utmost care was necessary, for the slightest misstep on the slippery ice might send him into the yawning mouth of an abyss.

Hours passed, and still Slim Tyler plodded on. He had eaten nothing since the noon before, and the fast of twenty-four hours had made him ravenously hungry.

He searched his pockets in the faint hope that he might find a bit of biscuit or of chocolate. But there was not a crumb. He plucked some leaves and twigs from withered shrubbery and chewed on them in the hope of alleviating the gnawing pangs. But they seemed only to aggravate his hunger.

At times he stood still and shouted, in the hope that his voice might carry to some human ears in that vast solitude. The mountains echoed back the shout, but no other voice replied.

Night fell and he perforce had to stop. He was growing dizzy and lightheaded. But he did not dare sleep. Even that solace of the miserable was denied him. He knew that, if he once closed his eyes in that freezing atmosphere, he would never open them again.

He had no matches, or he might have gathered withered shrubs enough to make a tiny fire. That at least would have brought some semblance of cheer.

All night long he tramped to and fro in a narrow space that he had selected because it was free from crevasses. When morning came he set out again on his quest.

He still kept shouting at intervals, though his voice was weaker now.

It was after one of those quavering calls that he stopped abruptly.

What was that? An answering call? No! He must be getting delirious. He had been fearing that. Now it had come!

But no—yes—there it was again! No mistake this time! A voice that was not his own and that had a familiar ring in it!

Slim Tyler summoned up his remaining strength and hurried around a near-by bend in the cliff. And there was Dick Mylert running to meet him!

Dick! Good old Dick! Not his ghost, but Dick in the flesh! Dick, whom he had feared he would never see again!

The two fairly hugged each other in the exuberance of their delight, babbling incoherently.

"And Jerry?" asked Slim, when they had somewhat recovered their composure.

A shadow came over Mylert's haggard face. He shook his head sadly.

"Don't know," he replied. "The shock came and the next thing I knew I knew nothing. I was just chucked out and found myself alone when I woke up. Ever since I've been looking around for you and him."

They exchanged experiences, which had been very much alike. They had rolled down different slopes and so had become separated.

"Not a scrap to eat," mourned Dick. "Gee, I'd like to come across those auks we killed!"

"Same here," echoed Slim. "But now, if we starve, we'll have the poor comfort of starving together."

"Poor is right," said the young reporter, with a grimace. "But let's hope it won't come to that."

They set out again on their apparently unending tramp. Two hours passed, and they were steadily growing weaker. Growing more hopeless, too, though each kept up a brave front.

"Don't know where we're going, but we're on the way," remarked Dick, with a game but feeble attempt at joking. "Geewhillikens! what's that?"

The "that" was a shot that rang out crisply in the icy air!

At the same moment a bird that had been flying overhead came whirling down to earth!

CHAPTER XXIII

A JOYOUS REUNION

A shot!

That meant that a human finger had touched the trigger. Men were at hand! Trappers, hunters—it mattered not who they were, they were men! The starving wanderers were no longer alone in this vast icy wilderness.

Slim Tyler and Dick Mylert looked at each other in wild rapture. Then they broke into as rapid a run as their weakened state permitted.

Staggering, but still running, they rounded an icy hummock and came into view of a camp.

Half a dozen figures were in sight, most of them busily engaged in various tasks.

Nearest to the newcomers was a man working at a plane. He looked up at the sound of running feet and jumped up with a startled exclamation when he saw the staggering figures coming toward him.

Slim Tyler's heart leaped as though it would leave his body.

The man was Dave Boyd!

"Dave! Dave!" shrieked Slim in wild delight, almost falling in his effort to reach him.

Dave Boyd rushed forward and caught the youth in his arms.

"By the great horn spoon!" yelled the older aviator in amazement, hardly able to believe his eyes. "Slim! Slim Tyler! How did you get here? Did you drop from the skies?"

"Just that," replied Slim, smiling weakly as Dave Boyd folded him in a bear's embrace. "Plane went flooey and I dropped. So did my friend here, Dick Mylert. Dick, this is Dave Boyd."

The men exchanged handclasps. By this time all the members of the camp had come running and surrounded the newcomers with expressions of wonder and welcome. There were Biff Donovan, for once genial and smiling, Sardine Brown, and the scientists, Franz, Burke, Lewis, Thompson and another upon whom Slim looked with keen interest, Cameron Flood.

Exclamations and questions tumbled over one another until Boyd intervened.

"Why, you're just a rack of bones, Slim!" he exclaimed.

"Not much wonder," put in Dick. "He hasn't had anything to eat for two days. Neither have I."

"What?" yelled Dave. "Lay off that questioning, you fellows. Not another word till we fill these boys up. Break out some of that canned soup, Biff. Sardine, get some coffee going. Starved, are you? You poor fellows! But we'll soon fix that."

He led Slim and Dick to a shack that the party had constructed and snuggled them under a pile of blankets. Then, when the soup and coffee were ready, he fed them with his own hands, taking care that they got no more than was good for them in their present weakened condition.

"Now get to sleep," he ordered them. "No, not a word," he commanded, as Slim was about to speak. "I'm burning up with curiosity as to how and why you're here, but you get your sleep first."

"But I must speak," persisted Slim. "It's Jerry——"

"What about Jerry?" asked Dave Boyd quickly.

"He was with us," replied Slim. "He was guiding the plane when it crashed. He may be wandering around as we were. I don't know."

Dave Boyd's face paled. He was very fond of Jerry Marbury, who had accompanied him on many of his flights.

"Jerry!" he exclaimed. "Poor lad! We'll start a hunt for him at once, every man jack of us. And we won't let up till we find him alive—or find him dead. Trust us now and go to sleep."

Slim and Dick could not have disobeyed, if they had tried. Through the rest of the afternoon and all that night they were wrapped in the sleep of utter exhaustion.

Their youth and vitality stood them in good stead, and the next morning they woke up enormously refreshed and almost their usual selves.

A glance at Dave Boyd's grave face told Slim without asking that the quest for Jerry Marbury had been in vain.

"No," said Dave. "We went in different directions, looking for him and firing off guns at intervals to guide him to where we were. At night we shot off Very pistols and sent up rockets in hope that he'd see the lights. With no success so far. We'll go out again to-day as soon as we've had breakfast."

Slim sighed, but made no comment.

"Now," said Dave, as they sat down at the rude table a little later, "tell us what we all want to hear, Slim. What brought you to Greenland?"

"You," replied Slim simply.

"What?"

"You," repeated Slim. "We got worried when your messages ceased. We got more worried when the report came that trappers had seen a plane in trouble forced down in the mountains. So we raised funds, got a plane, and started out to look for you."

"We," said Dave dazedly. "Whom do you mean by 'we'?"

"Jerry and I," replied Slim. "Dick came along to get stuff for his newspaper."

Dave Boyd was not an emotional man, but tears started to his eyes.

"Let me get this straight," he said huskily. "You mean that you and Jerry of your own volition got up this expedition and risked your lives just to rescue me, if you should find me in trouble?"

"Why not?" replied Slim. "You're the best friend I have in the world."

Dave Boyd thrust his big hand across the table.

"Shake, Slim! Shake!" he said, as he grasped the lad's hand. "You're there, Slim! You're all there!"

A murmur of assent rose from all at the table, as, with eyes full of admiration, they looked at Slim Tyler.

"You were right in thinking we were in trouble," resumed Dave Boyd, when he had released Slim's hand. "It's a wonder that we're not all dead. We got caught in a frightful blizzard that forced us down. By sheer luck we were able to make a landing——"

"Luck, nothing!" interrupted Biff Donovan from the other end of the table. "It was because you were handling the controls. No other aviator in the world could have made that landing."

"Nonsense!" disclaimed Boyd. "You could have done it just as well. As it was, we escaped with our lives. But the radio was smashed and the plane pretty badly cracked up. Biff and Sardine and I have been pretty busy since patching it up. Our scientists here haven't done so badly. They've got all kinds of information about the meteorology of Greenland, the precipitation, the mountain ranges, and goodness knows what else."

"You're right in that," put in Cameron Flood, and the other scientists nodded their heads. "It's been a fruitful opportunity, far surpassing our expectations."

Slim Tyler studied the speaker closely. What he saw pleased him.

Cameron Flood was a tall, handsome young man of perhaps twenty-eight, frank and open in expression, with a humorous glint in his eyes. He had a straight, strong nose and a jaw that bespoke determination. Slim judged that he would be a valuable ally in the tracking down of Nat Shaley.

"Now," said Boyd, as he shoved back his chair, "we're off to look for Jerry. Everything around here has got to stop until we find him. We'll divide into parties and keep in touch with each other by frequent rifle shots. Flood, suppose you go with Slim and Dick. You know this district well by this time."

Armed with rifles, the groups scattered in different directions.

Slim Tyler and his companions had been traveling about an hour when Slim grabbed an arm each of Dick and Flood and yanked his astonished comrades down behind an ice hummock.

"What's up?" demanded Dick, struggling to rise.

"S-sh!" warned Slim. "Look!"

Dick and Flood peered cautiously around the corner of the hummock.

A huge polar bear was lumbering toward them!

CHAPTER XXIV

AT GRIPS WITH A MONSTER

That the bear had not discovered the presence of the searching party was evidenced by the leisurely and unperturbed way in which he came swinging along.

But their immunity could not last. The creature was coming directly toward the hummock behind which they lay concealed. A minute more, and he would have reached it. Then discovery would be inevitable.

"Looks like a fight," remarked Cameron Flood coolly, as he gripped his rifle tightly.

"That's what," assented Slim Tyler. "And it's always a good plan in a fight to get in the first blow. Let's give him a volley."

"Whenever you say the word," agreed Dick Mylert.

The bear stopped abruptly. Its air of serenity vanished. It had caught the scent of man. It growled savagely, rose on its hind legs and sniffed the air, looking about for its enemies.

"A sockdolager!" breathed Dick. "Eight feet tall, standing up, if it's an inch!"

"Ready, fellows?" whispered Slim.

His companions nodded.

"Now!" shouted Slim.

They sprang to their feet and fired.

Standing up as it was, the bear offered a good target, and all the bullets struck. With a frightful roar of rage and pain the animal staggered and toppled over.

The shouts of triumph that rose from the throats of the marksmen died in their birth. None of the bullets had struck a vital spot and the monster scrambled to its feet and rushed at its enemies with a speed surprising in so large a creature.

The bear was no more than twenty feet away and coming toward them like an express train.

They fired again, but failed to stop the charging beast.

"Scatter!" yelled Slim, "and plug him when you get a chance."

They fled like the wind in different directions.

The melting away of the group disconcerted the polar bear for an instant, but for an instant only. The next moment it singled out Slim Tyler and made for him.

If Slim's long legs had ever stood him in good stead, it was then. He ran as if his feet had wings, spurred on by the certainty that death was pursuing him.

Had he been on bare ground, he might have twisted and doubled and possibly escaped, though in the long run the superior endurance of the bear would probably have told.

But he was handicapped because he was running on ice. Again and again he slipped and almost fell, and the struggle to regain his footing checked his speed. The bear's paws were made for ice, and the creature was at no disadvantage on that account. Slowly but surely the bear was gaining on the fugitive.

Shots rang out, and Slim Tyler knew that his comrades were doing all they could to stop his pursuer.

Then his blood froze with horror, for he saw before him a yawning crevasse in the ice field! It was fully twenty feet across. He could not leap it. He was trapped! Before him the abyss! Behind him the bear!

Slim Tyler whirled about like lightning. The bear reared itself up to grasp him with a hideous growl of triumph.

Flinging his rifle to his shoulder, Slim fired.

The bullet entered the monster's eye and penetrated to the brain.

Slim dodged as the huge body came tumbling down and narrowly escaped the dreadful claws.

The great bulk slid to the edge of the crevasse and went whirling over and over to the bottom, hundreds of feet below.

The young aviator sat down suddenly, gasping for breath, utterly exhausted, scarcely daring to believe in his narrow escape from an awful death.

Dick and Flood came running up to him.

"Are you hurt?" asked Dick anxiously.

"No," panted Slim, "but—all—in."

"No wonder!" exclaimed Flood. "You'll never be nearer death than you were a minute ago and live to tell about it. My heart was in my mouth. I thought it was all over with you."

"It was a case of touch and go," admitted Slim, as he rose to his feet. "Merest luck that shot got to the brain. I didn't aim for the eye. Just let fly at the head, hoping it would get him somewhere."

"Pity we lost the hide," remarked Dick. "It would have made a splendid rug for your room when you got back."

"I don't want it," replied Slim. "It would have given me the willies every time I looked at it. Let's be getting on."

"And let's keep a sharp lookout for the mate of that fellow," cautioned Flood. "They usually travel in pairs."

The precaution proved needless, as no other bear appeared.

All the morning and well into the afternoon they searched plateaus and valleys and mountain slopes, shouting at intervals and firing their rifles, without eliciting a response or finding a trace of the missing one. With every hour that passed their hearts grew heavier.

They had paused to rest at the edge of a long slope that extended far down into a valley.

There came a cracking sound and a yell from Slim.

"Jump back, fellows!" he shouted. "Jump back!"

Too late!

A huge segment of the ice on which they were standing gave way. The next moment they went whirling down the steep slope in a wild medley of waving arms and legs!

CHAPTER XXV

DOWN THE SLOPE

Sliding, rolling, tumbling, their senses as well as their bodies in a whirl, the three adventurers kept on in their headlong flight down the slippery slope, reaching out wildly in the hope of grasping something that would check their dizzy speed but clutching nothing but empty air.

As far as they could think of anything in the tumult of their minds, they feared what would be at the end of that long slide.

It might be a precipice over which they would be hurled to instant death. Or they might bring up against an ice hummock or some other obstruction with a force that would break every bone in their bodies.

As they neared the bottom, however, the slide lost its steepness and gradually merged into a gently rolling slope. This served to moderate their speed, so that they had almost stopped rolling when they brought up against some object that halted their flight.

They were dazed and breathless, and for some moments lay motionless in a heap, their predominant feeling one of intense thankfulness that they were still alive. Then they began slowly to untangle themselves and assume a sitting position.

"I—I don't know whether I've got my own legs or somebody else's," gasped Dick, as he extricated those useful members from those of his companions.

"We are pretty well scrambled," admitted Slim, "and that goes for brains as well as legs. My head is spinning like a top. Either of you fellows hurt?"

"Feel as though I'd been drawn through a cement mixer," vouchsafed Flood. "Think I'll take my meals standing up for a while. But none of my bones seem out of whack."

"No more such coasting parties for me!" declared Dick. "That is, if I'm consulted about it beforehand. Gee, what a dizzy whirl!"

"What is it we brought up against at the end, anyway?" asked Flood.

"Don't know," replied Slim, groping behind him, for at that great depth it was almost impossible to see anything. "Feels like——"

He broke off suddenly and sprang to his feet with a yell.

"It's a plane!" he shouted. "It's the Hope! Do you hear me, fellows? It's the Hope!"

"What?" cried Dick. "You're dreaming!"

"It is, I tell you!" reiterated Slim, almost crazy with excitement and delight. "Feel it! Go over it! Give me your flashlight, Flood."

The young scientist handed it over, and Slim Tyler shot its rays over the object.

The Hope! It stood revealed from nose to tail, broken here, bent there, a propeller twisted, the undercarriage awry, but by no means an utter wreck, as Slim Tyler's eye noted at once. If it hadn't been so big, Slim would have hugged it.

There was the Hope. But where was Jerry Marbury?

With dread in his heart, Slim Tyler moved slowly toward the cockpit. He was afraid to flash the light into it. What might that light reveal?

But he had to know. With a desperate lunge, he flung the rays into the cockpit, swept the fuselage and the cabin.

His heart leaped. What he had feared to see was not there!

"He wasn't killed when the plane cracked up," exulted Slim, "or his body would be here."

"That's something to be thankful for," replied Dick. "Still, it doesn't really prove anything. He may have been thrown out as the plane came down."

A shout from a little distance made the three adventurers jump.

"Hello! Hello there!" came in a familiar voice that set Slim's and Dick's hearts to beating wildly.

"It's Jerry! Jerry!" cried Slim.

He started running in the direction of the shout, flashing the light ahead of him, his companions close on his heels.

Into the light came Jerry, good old Jerry, hobbling as fast toward them as a bandaged foot would let him!

Slim and Dick swept him into their arms, pounding him, embracing him, mauling him, fairly delirious with relief and rapture.

"Alive! Alive!" cried Slim. "Jerry, old boy, I wouldn't exchange this minute for a million dollars!"

"You'd get stung, then," grinned Jerry, though his eyes were moist from the warmth of the welcome. "I'm not worth that much, living or dead. But I feel the same way about you fellows. When you were thrown out of the plane I was afraid I'd never see you again."

"You stuck to the old ship, though," said Dick, "like the brick you are."

"No credit to me," disclaimed Jerry. "My straps held me in my seat. As soon as I got over the shock, I tried to handle the old bus so that she'd stay aloft. It was no go, though, and she came down at last where you see her. Came down more slowly than I thought she would, and yet hard enough to put one of my legs out of commission."

"It isn't broken, is it?" asked Slim quickly.

"Not as bad as that," was the reply. "But the knee was twisted and the ankle sprained so that this is the first day I've been able to stand on it. Otherwise, you can bet your life, I'd have been out hunting for you. But how did you fellows ever get down to the bottom of this gorge?"

"Tumbled down, and brought up plunk against the plane," laughed Slim. "And we've found Dave Boyd, Jerry."

"Glory be!" cried Jerry. "Is he all right?"

"Perfectly," replied Slim. "So are the rest of his party. Forced down, but nobody hurt. They're patching up the plane now." Then Slim introduced Cameron Flood.

"This sure is my lucky day!" ejaculated Jerry.

"There's one thing in which you were luckier than we were when we were chucked out," put in Dick. "You've had plenty of grub."

"Yes," grinned Jerry. "What's more, I sure have made a hole in it."

"Well, now to get out of here and back to our camp," suggested Flood. "The others will be worried if we don't turn up."

"More easily said than done," said Dick, looking ruefully up the slope down which they had rolled. "We can't go back the way we came, especially Jerry with his crippled leg," and he pointed to the top, where the segment that had broken away had left an overhanging cliff.

"Sure enough," muttered Slim. "That makes it bad."

"I was just coming back from a little scouting expedition when you fellows met me," put in Jerry eagerly. "I found something that seemed to lead out into the open—a sort of a narrow ice bridge it looked like from a little distance. Maybe we could turn the trick with that."

"We'll try anything once," decided Slim Tyler. "Let's get moving. Suppose you fellows," addressing Dick and Flood, "give Jerry an arm each and I'll handle the flashlight."

Following Jerry's directions and moving slowly because of the latter's injured leg, they came before long in sight of the bridge of ice.

It was a natural formation stretching for perhaps two hundred feet over a deep gorge and seemed at the farther end to emerge into open country.

In places it was thick; in others it had been hollowed out beneath by thaws so that its thickness could be measured only by inches. In no place was it wide enough for two to go abreast.

Dick Mylert eyed it dubiously as Slim flashed the light upon it.

"Easiest place in the world to fall from," he commented. "And if one should fall—" He glanced at the yawning gulf below.

"Mighty risky," agreed Slim. "But I'm ready to chance it if the rest of you are."

There was no dissent, and Slim Tyler led the way with his flashlight.

"Come close behind me, Jerry, and hang on to my shoulder," Slim directed. "I'll go slowly."

With the utmost precaution they set their feet on the slippery surface, not lifting one foot till the other was firmly planted. They had to proceed at a snail's pace. The slightest misstep would prove fatal. It was a nightmarish journey.

The voyagers' apprehensions were not lessened by the ominous cracking that made itself heard when they trod on the thinner places of the structure.

More sinister still in threat was the rumbling that grew ever louder from the ice cliffs on either side. This presently assumed tangible form when splinters of ice began to fall.

They were soon more than splinters, large pieces detached from the cliffs falling about the adventurers and at times narrowly missing them.

Every impulse urged hurry. But to hurry might itself mean death.

"Steady, boys, steady!" gritted Slim Tyler between his teeth.

At last, after what seemed ages, Slim reached the plateau on the other side. He gripped Jerry's arm and yanked him to safety.

A hideous rending roar sounded from above.

"Quick, fellows, quick!" yelled Slim.

Dick jumped to the plateau. Flood, who was last, gathered himself for a spring.

A tremendous mass of ice and rock came down from above.

The ice bridge broke!

CHAPTER XXVI

THE BRINK OF THE ABYSS

A huge piece of the cliff had struck the bridge and the structure, never too strong at the best, collapsed under the blow.

As Cameron Flood felt the bridge give way under him, he made a desperate spring for the plateau.

The distance was too great. He struck the side of the plateau with his chest, his outstretched hands clutching some withered grasses growing near the edge on the surface above, to which he clung with the tenacity of despair. There he hung, swinging to and fro over the fearful chasm hundreds of feet in depth.

It had been said of Slim Tyler that his thinking processes could run rings around lightning. A fond exaggeration of his friends! But he proved his quickness now.

In a flash he had seen that Cameron Flood could not clear the space from the sinking bridge to the plateau. Simultaneously with Flood's spring, Slim had thrown himself flat on the ground.

"Sit on my legs," he roared to Dick and Jerry.

The grasses that Flood had clutched gave way almost immediately beneath his weight. But before they had completely yielded, Slim Tyler's hands had closed on Flood's wrists with a grip of steel.

"I've got you!" he cried. "Don't struggle. I'll pull you up."

Flood obeyed, and inch by inch Slim Tyler hauled him up.

It was a terrific task, for Flood had had the breath knocked out of him by his impact against the side of the plateau and was a dead weight.

Slim felt as though his arms were being wrenched from their sockets. If it had not been for the weight of Dick and Jerry on his legs, he would have been pulled over the edge, and he and Flood would have gone down to the depths together.

Strainingly, Slim Tyler drew his burden up until Flood could rest his elbows on the edge of the plateau. That helped. Then another heart-breaking pull until Flood could throw one leg over. One final tug and Slim had drawn him to safety.

The young aviator rolled over on his back, panting, gasping, utterly exhausted from the terrible mental and physical strain. The fervent thanks of Flood, the admiring exclamations of Dick and Jerry, seemed to come to him from far away. It seemed as though he could never get breath enough into his laboring lungs. Fully five minutes elapsed before he could speak. Then he sat up and smiled faintly.

"Guess we'd better be getting on," he said.

"Just like that!" exclaimed Dick. "Just done the quickest, nerviest, pluckiest thing I ever saw, and thinks no more of it than just to remark that he thinks 'we'd better be getting on.' You just can't make a hero of that boy. He won't let you. Put him on a pedestal and he kicks the pedestal over and comes down."

"Oh, shucks!" deprecated Slim. "The chance just came to me and I took it. Nothing to write home about."

"He's hopeless," pronounced Jerry, shaking his head.

"You saved my life, Slim," said Cameron Flood earnestly, "and I'll never forget it. It was a wonderful exhibition of coolness, courage and swift action. I shall be your debtor as long as I live."

"I'm mighty glad I had the chance," replied Slim. "How are you feeling now? All right?"

"Rather battered, but still in the ring," replied Flood, as he rose with the rest to continue their journey.

"I think," said Slim, "it would be a good idea to fire the three shots in succession that we agreed upon in case Jerry were found."

The suggestion was followed, and as sound carried far in that silent region, it was not long before answering shots told that the rest of the searchers were hurrying in their direction.

Dave Boyd with his group was the first to reach them, and it was with a wild cry of delight that Dave recognized Jerry and rushed forward to fold him in his arms.

"Thank heaven!" he cried. "Jerry, my boy, I'd almost given you up. Those three shots were the sweetest music I ever heard. Now we've got all the old bunch together again. This Greenland trip would have been utterly spoiled for me if anything had happened to any one of you."

"Two more might have been missing from the list every easily," remarked Dick. "A polar bear nearly nabbed Slim and Mr. Flood came within an ace of falling into a gorge. But luck was with us."

"I should say that Slim Tyler was with us," amended Flood. "He shot the bear through the brain, making an almost impossible shot, and he saved me from dropping into the chasm. Apart from that, he didn't do anything much."

"Trust that lad to be always on the job," observed Dave Boyd. "It was a lucky day when I met him. But let's get along to the camp before it grows too dark to see."

It was a jubilant party that gathered about the supper table that night and went over the events of the day. A fearful weight had been lifted from the minds of all. What was painful in the past had been wiped out. The present was serene. The future could take care of itself.

No opportunity had yet been afforded Slim to speak to Cameron Flood about the lumber deal in which the father of each had been concerned. In the anxiety about Jerry Marbury, that had been shoved to the back of Slim's mind. But after supper, as he was sitting next to Flood before a roaring fire that had been built outdoors, the young aviator broached the subject.

"Mr. Flood," he said, "have you ever heard of Nat Shaley?"

Flood started.

CHAPTER XXVII

SPEEDING HOMEWARD

"Nat Shaley?" exclaimed Cameron Flood in answer to Slim Tyler's question. "You bet I've heard of him, worse luck! What on earth brought that old rascal to your mind?"

"Rascal is right," agreed Slim. "I see you have him sized up. I've had him in my mind for a long time. I think he swindled my father out of twenty thousand dollars."

"Shake!" said Flood extending his hand. "Our fathers were brothers in misfortune. I have reason to think that he swindled my dad to the tune of forty thousand."

"Have you any definite proof of that?" asked Slim eagerly.

"None too definite, I'm afraid," replied Flood meditatively. "A virtual certainty, but perhaps not a legal one. There seem to be some links missing in the proof. So, at any rate, our family lawyer seems to think."

"Yes, I got a letter from him," declared Slim.

"You did?" asked Flood curiously. "What prompted you to get in touch with him?"

"This," replied Slim, taking the thumbed, greasy notebook of High Hat Frank from his pocket.

He told Flood of the way in which the notebook had come into his possession, and the two went over it with the keenest interest.

"That broken word 'Tyl'," said Slim, putting his finger on it. "I'm sure that it refers to my father."

"I know it does," asseverated Flood emphatically. "I can remember my father speaking of a Mr. Tyler who was at one time associated with him in business. What was your father's first name?"

"Stillwell," replied Slim.

"That's it!" cried Flood. "I remember thinking of it at the time as an unusual name. What a queer coincidence it is that has thrown us together!"

"It is, for a fact," agreed Slim. "Doesn't it mean, perhaps, that we're to be partners in tracking down Nat Shaley?"

"Certainly looks like it," assented Flood. "And I'm with you in that till the cows come home. But it will be no easy task. That old fox has probably covered his trail pretty well. But there's a weak point somewhere in every villain's plans, and you and I will do our best to find it. Gee, I'd like to put the screws on the old scoundrel!"

"Same here," declared Slim. "Not only has he cheated my father, but he's done me dirt in every way he could. Robbed me of my wages, had me arrested on a false charge, lied to me, tried to bribe me. I have a heavy score to settle with him."

"I'll stir up my lawyer as soon as I get back," promised Flood, "and see if we can't get action. Don't worry about the funds. I'm fairly well fixed financially, and all the money we need will be forthcoming. Sooner or later we'll bring Nat Shaley to book and make him pay back every dollar he stole."

"That will suit me right down to the ground," said Slim. "Here's hoping!"

The next morning, Dave Boyd, accompanied by Slim Tyler and Biff Donovan, went over to the valley where the Hope had come down. It took hours of searching before they found access to it through a pass in the mountains.

"Not so bad," pronounced Dave, after the three had made a careful examination of the plane. "We have spare parts enough, and she can be put in prime condition without too much trouble."

"But she can never rise from here," remarked Biff. "No runway for a take-off."

"I was coming to that," said Dave. "We'll have to disassemble her, carry the parts out piece by piece, take them to our camp, and put them together again. It'll be a whale of a job, especially with the motors, but a block and tackle will work wonders."

It took nearly a week of hard work before the parts were all transferred to the scientists' camp, and nearly two weeks more, with their lack of machine shop facilities, before the plane could be put in condition to fly. But with Slim and Jerry it was a labor of love, and the other aviators joined in whole-heartedly, until at last the Hope, as good as ever, stood ready for the homeward flight.

In the meantime the scientists had fully achieved the objects of their expedition. They had accomplished more than they had dared hope and were in high feather over the results.

The Flying Cloud also had been fully repaired, with the exception of the radio sets, of which all the tubes had been smashed, including those designed for replacements.

This had been a source of keen regret to Dave Boyd, and to the others as well, especially to those who had families. No messages could be sent, and the outside world was wholly in ignorance as to the fate that had befallen the party. For all that the world knew, the voyagers of both the Flying Cloud and the Hope had perished.

One person in the party, however, had no regrets at the radio failure. Dick Mylert, in his own words, was "riding high and sitting pretty."

"Peaches and cream for me!" jubilated the young newspaper man, the instinct of his profession uppermost. "Exclusive story by an eye-witness of the great Greenland Expedition! Thrilling details! I'll write the whole thing up on the way home and be ready to put it hot on the wire the moment we land. The other papers will be crazy. And maybe my boss won't be tickled pink! I'll be the cream in his coffee. Big jump in salary! Bonus! Promotion! Blessings on that smashed radio!"

"Go to it, old scout," laughed Slim Tyler. "You've surely earned it."

A slight change was made in the grouping of the voyagers on the return flight, Cameron Flood going in the Hope with Slim and Jerry, while Dick Mylert was transferred to the Flying Cloud.

Boyd was the first to take off, and a few minutes later Slim Tyler lifted the Hope into the air.

"Good-by, Greenland!" waved Jerry.

"And Hail, Columbia!" added Flood, as the plane straightened out for home.

CHAPTER XXVIII

NAT SHALEY GETS A JOLT

The start of the homeward flight was auspicious. Fate, that had been so harsh to the voyagers on their outward trip, made amends by the fair winds and favorable weather that accompanied them on their flight over Davis Straits to the mainland of the American Continent.

The voyagers had planned to make their first stop at Montreal for two reasons. One was to replenish their stock of gasoline, which was running low in each plane and would not suffice for the entire trip.

Another was to drop off Dick Mylert so that that enterprising young man could rush to the telegraph office and send his great exclusive news story over the wires to his New York paper before the rest of the world should have any inkling that the intrepid Greenland adventurers were safe and sound and on their way home.

For the greater part of the flight over the Canadian wilds the planes kept each other in sight. Twice they were separated, once in a fog and again in a storm of moderate violence, but they managed to rejoin each other and came down to refuel at Montreal only a few minutes apart.

"Not a word now to anybody," implored the young newspaper man, as he bade his companions a cordial farewell before hastening to the telegraph station.

"We'll be as dumb as oysters," promised Dave Boyd, and the rest nodded assent. "Wouldn't spoil your story for anything. If it isn't going to take you too long, we'll wait here for you."

"Thanks just the same," replied Dick. "But there's no knowing how long it will be before I can get a clear wire for a story of this length, and you'd better go along. I'll take a train for New York as soon as I get through."

"Run up to North Elmwood as soon as you get a chance," urged Slim.

"If you don't, we'll come down and kidnap you," added Jerry.

"You bet I'll come!" promised Dick. "And out of that jump in salary I'm going to get I'll blow you to the best dinner that your hotel there can furnish."

"Or better yet, we'll clean out Carl Stummel's hot dog stand," laughed Slim.

"That wouldn't be so bad either," replied Dick, chuckling. "The memory of his hot dogs lingers."

The newspaper man hurried off with a wave of his hand, and Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury looked after him with keen regret at losing him. He had been a staunch, courageous comrade, always bright, always jolly, a "regular fellow" in the fullest sense of the word.

The party had to parry many questions from the mechanics and pilots on the field while the planes were being refueled, but they avoided revealing their identity, and when they rose again into the air for the final lap home Dick Mylert's secret was still his own.

"In Uncle Sam's country once more!" exclaimed Slim a little while later, as the Hope swept over the Canadian border.

"It sure looks good to me!" ejaculated Jerry. "There have been times on this trip when I wouldn't have given a plugged nickel for my chance of ever seeing it again."

It was with a thrill of exultation impossible to describe that, at about noon on the next day, they found themselves hovering over the old familiar field of North Elmwood.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Jerry in amazement. "Here we thought we'd take them by surprise, and the field is black with people."

"So it is," replied Slim. "Dick got his story through all right, and after his paper got the first hack at it I suppose the news was flashed all over America."

As indeed it had. The big New York newspaper had electrified the world by its great first-page story with screaming headlines about the finding of the Greenland adventurers, and instantly the press associations had sent the news to every town and hamlet of America and to the capitals of Europe.

Long before, the voyagers had been given up for lost and now it was like a return from the dead. It was the sensation of the day, and from every part of the country reporters in shoals and the populace by thousands were hurrying to North Elmwood.

So it was a tremendous reception that was accorded the daring explorers when the planes descended like weary birds to the home field. The voyagers were fairly mobbed by the crowds, whose enthusiasm could not be held in check.

There was glory enough for all, but Dave Boyd and Slim Tyler were the special heroes of that great homecoming, Boyd because of the admiration in which he was held as the greatest aviator in the world and Slim Tyler because of his intrepid daring in leading the mission of rescue.

But better than all the applause and admiration showered on Slim was the meeting with his old friends. They were all there, rotund Henry Cusack, his face beaming like a full moon; Tom Ellsworth, who nearly wrung his hand off; Henry Traut, with his little boy whose life Slim had saved, well and rosy now, who squealed with delight as Slim took him up in his arms; and Carl Stummel, good old Carl, who fairly blubbered as he threw his arms about Slim.

"Und it vos deadt dot I beleefed you vos, alretty!" he exclaimed. "Und here you iss alife yet!"

"You couldn't kill me with an axe," declared Slim. "I'm——"

He broke off suddenly, for he saw a familiar figure edging away through the crowd.

"Just a minute, Carl," he excused himself. He turned to Cameron Flood, who had been standing by, smiling. "Come with me a minute, Cam." He had long dropped the more formal "Mr. Flood." "You'll meet a mutual friend of ours."

The two slipped away in the wake of the retreating figure.

"It's Nat Shaley," Slim explained, as they hurried along. "I want to give him a shock by introducing you. He may let slip something that will help us."

They overtook Shaley just after he had turned into a side street, passed him and turned about, blocking his path.

The old rascal started violently as he recognized Slim Tyler.

"How are you, Mr. Shaley?" said Slim. "I'm back again, you see."

"What's that to me?" snarled Shaley. "I wouldn't have keerd if you'd never come back."

"I don't doubt it," replied Slim. "You might have been saved a lawsuit later on. Speaking of lawsuits, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine."

"I don't want no truck with you nor your friends," growled Shaley.

"I'm surprised," returned Slim. "Don't you want to meet Mr. Cameron Flood?"

The name struck Nat Shaley like a blow. He turned pale and looked with fear in his eyes at the stranger.

"You seem to know the name," said Flood. "Yes, I'm the son of Cameron Flood, who was associated with you at one time in the Mt. Sunwa lumber deal."

Nat Shaley staggered. He licked his lips, tried to speak.

"Never heerd of him," he managed to get out at last. "Never heerd of that outlandish Mount somethin' or other you're gabbin' about. Never wuz in Oregon——"

"Who said anything about Oregon?" asked Flood quickly.

Shaley could have bitten his tongue off for the slip. He took refuge in bluster.

"If you fellers is tryin' any blackmailin' on me, you'd better look out," he fumed. "There's laws ag'inst that kind o' thing an' don't you fergit it."

"There are laws against many things," agreed Flood. "One of those things is swindling. My father had a claim against you for forty thousand dollars. Mr. Tyler had another for twenty thousand. That's sixty thousand in all, and the interest to date will be almost as much more. Those claims are going to be pressed, Mr. Shaley—do you get that? pressed—and you'll pay every cent!"

"You ain't got proof," Shaley was beginning, when a throng of departing spectators from the field came round the corner and Shaley, thankful for the opportunity, lost himself in the swirl.

"Gave him a jolt, anyway," remarked Slim.

"He'll get more of a jolt before we're through with him," averred Flood, setting his jaw hard. "We'll press this thing to the limit, and I'm pretty sure that we're going to win."

That night for the first time in many weeks Slim Tyler slept between sheets. It had been a crowded day, full of glory and triumph, and he was still tingling with the excitement of it as he slipped into bed.

"That was the top notch," he murmured to himself. "Afraid things are going to be rather dull after this."

But he was mistaken. Other thrilling experiences were in store for him, and what they were will be told in another volume, entitled: "An Air Cargo of Gold; or, Slim Tyler, Special Bank Messenger," in which we shall meet Slim in some of the most daring adventures of his life.

A breezy night letter from Dick Mylert reached Slim the next morning.

"Did you read my story? Wasn't it a knockout? And, say, didn't it hit the boss hard! He all but gave me the business. I'm the salt in his gravy. Doubled my salary! Five thousand bonus! Biggest scoop in years! And he thinks you're the ace of all aviators. Told him how your endurance flight was knocked cock-eyed by that Shaley fellow. He's going to offer a big prize for beating the present refueling endurance record. There's your chance and Jerry's. Go in and win."

There was more of the same tenor, but Slim's special interest was caught and held by the publisher's offer. What he and Jerry did regarding that offer is another story.

"Vell, Shlim," said Carl that night, as the two were hobnobbing over the hot dog counter, "ain't id aboud time dot you vos down settling? Vot mit der wolfs und der bolar pears, und der shtorms in der skies und der smashin' der mountains against, ain'd it dot you haf enough ockcitement got alretty?"

"I'll never have enough excitement," replied Slim. "Excitement is life. I can't do without it. I thrive on it. I eat it up."

"Veil, eat id on der groundt den, vere you can put your feets down," urged Carl. "Gif up dot flying."

"Give up flying?" cried Slim Tyler, his eyes shining. "Never, Carl! Never! The air is my home!"