Lost over Greenland

CHAPTER VI

BALKING A RASCAL

Nat Shaley, undismayed by Slim Tyler's reception of him, tried to force his unpleasant countenance into a look of amiability.

"I figger to have a talk with you, son," said Shaley, in a tone which astonished Slim because it was so friendly and had the effect of putting him instantly on his guard. "I say now, can't we go somewhere where nobody'll be buttin' in to bother us?"

Slim hesitated. He abominated the man and wanted to have nothing to do with him.

On the other hand, he was anxious to find out all that he could about the mysterious Oregon lumber deal in which he now felt certain his father had been swindled by the old miser.

Of course, Shaley would never admit anything. But there was a chance that some unguarded utterance of his might give Slim a clue that could be followed up with profit.

"If you must be private," Slim said brusquely, "come over there with me back of Stummel's hot dog stand. We're not apt to be interrupted there."

Nat Shaley's small eyes gleamed assent. He wore a satisfied smirk.

"All right, son," he said in his new manner. "You lead the way an' I'll follow."

When they had reached the vacant patch of land back of Carl Stummel's place, Slim Tyler turned and faced the man who was his worst enemy and had probably been his father's evil genius.

"Well," he said crisply, "out with it. I'm no friend of yours, Nat Shaley. I won't pretend to be. If you have anything to say to me, say it quickly and get it over with."

"Not so fast, not so fast," protested Shaley, who seemed a bit disconcerted by the boy's uncompromising attitude. "Mebbe when you hear what I have to say, you won't talk so loud about us bein' enemies——"

"All right," Slim interrupted impatiently. "Get on with it. What do you want?"

"I don't want nothin'," said Shaley, his own tone beginning to rasp. "I come here to give you somethin'. Howsomever, if you don't want it, you don't have to take it."

"Give me something!" replied Slim contemptuously. "That doesn't seem to be in your line, Nat Shaley. From what I've seen of you you're the taking, not the giving sort."

For a moment the mask of good nature dropped from the old miser's face and his eyes glowed venomously. He started to speak and stopped with his mouth half open. It was evident that he controlled himself by a gigantic effort.

"You ain't helpin' me to be nice to you," said the old scoundrel, with a leer. "But I got a forgivin' disposition an' I ain't to be turned from my purpose by no hot-headed young feller that don't know what side his bread's buttered on. Now look here, Slim, I got some money for you."

"Money!" Slim's mind leaped to the twenty thousand dollars out of which his father had been swindled. Was it possible? Was a miracle happening? No. The age of miracles was past.

Well, then, what was the old villain up to?

"I got to thinkin' about how I treated you that time at the railroad when you came down thinkin' to save my life," went on Shaley. "You tried to help me, an' I ain't properly thanked you fer it."

Slim was more than ever suspicious. Gratitude was not one of Shaley's outstanding traits.

"Is that what you brought me here for?" Slim asked guardedly. "To say 'thank you'?"

"Well, yes an' no. But there's a more important part. I aim to pay you the back wages you say I owe you."

"Not only what I say you owe me, but what you know you owe me," corrected Slim. "It's about time you dug it up. Knowing you, I'd kissed it good-by."

Again Nat Shaley's face became purple with rage. He reigned in his temper with a great effort.

"What does the old rascal want of me," thought Slim, eying his one-time employer keenly. "He isn't loosening up with any forty dollars just for the fun of it—not Nat Shaley."

He stretched out his hand.

"Let me see the color of the money," he challenged.

Nat Shaley drew back. A crafty expression marred the labored amiability of his face.

"All right, all right, I'll give it to you. All in good time. I ain't deceivin' you, even if you seem to think I am. Look here!"

He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out a big roll of bills. Before Slim's doubting eyes he counted out four, crisp, new tens.

Nevertheless, when Slim again stretched out his hand, desirous to prove to himself that he was not dreaming, Shaley still held the bills clutched in his scrawny fingers.

"Now that you have the proof that I'm tryin' to be your friend, mebbe you won't mind doin' me a little favor."

The suggestion was thrown off carelessly, as though it had no bearing whatever upon the payment of the forty dollars of back wages.

Slim Tyler was not fooled for an instant.

"I knew you wouldn't loosen up on that forty dollars unless you were out to get your money's worth," he said bitingly. "Speak up, Shaley, and let's get this over with. What's on your mind?"

Nat Shaley's face assumed an innocent air which was comical on that villainous countenance.

"It's jest about that there little accident up at the railroad," he said smoothly. "You seen fer yourself how the engine smashed my car. But I can't fix it up to collect damages unless I have a witness to prove that the company was wrong."

Light broke upon Slim Tyler.

"And you want me to be that witness. Is that it?" he asked, with misleading calm.

Shaley nodded. He leered up at Slim hopefully. It was his belief that anything could be bought with money. Had he not just offered Slim Tyler forty dollars?

"Sure," he said. "All you'll have to do is to say that I was drivin' all right till the car seemed to hit somethin' stickin' from the tracks an' turned over. An' you can say, too, that there was plenty of time fer the train to stop before it smashed into the car." He held the forty dollars conspicuously displayed, so that it would be the greater temptation for the young aviator. "What's more, I'm willin' to take your word fer it. All you have to say is that you're sure the accident was the fault of the railroad and—here's your forty dollars."

Nat Shaley had failed to note Slim's ominous quiet. Now the young man spoke, still quietly.

"You low-down skunk!"

Nat Shaley shrank back as though he had been struck. His thin lips fell back from his teeth in a snarl. Fury gleamed in his eyes.

"So that's the way you treat me when I offer you money!" he ejaculated.

"You offer me money if I'll lie for you!" cried Slim, his rage slowly mastering him. It was with difficulty that he restrained himself from leaping at Shaley's throat. "You rat! You thief! Trying to bribe me to do your dirty work for you! Get away from here before I forget myself and give you what's coming to you."

"So that's your line, is it?" snarled Shaley. "Let me tell you that you ain't foolin' me—no, not fer a minute. You ain't so innocent as you try to make me think. You ain't jest got the spunk to pull off the deal, that's all. You never was no good."

"You crook!" Slim was white with rage. "I ought to wipe up the ground with you. Not content to steal twenty thousand dollars from my father, you have to come out here and try to bribe me with your measly little forty dollars back pay that's mine by right. Get out of here, you hound. If you were a younger man, you'd get my fist on the point of your jaw."

At mention of the twenty thousand dollars, Nat Shaley began to back slowly away.

"I never stole a cent from your father," he growled. "You're hipped, that's what you are."

"I suppose you never heard of Cameron Flood either," snapped Slim. "Never heard of Hugh Garrabrant."

A look of fright came into Shaley's eyes.

"You're crazy," snarled Shaley, all the color ebbing from his face. "What fool nonsense is it flingin' them names at me? They don't mean nothin'. Never heerd of 'em."

"You will hear of them plenty of times before I'm through with you," replied Slim. "Now get away from here as fast as your legs can carry you. And if you bring any more of your slimy propositions to me, you'll wish you hadn't."

"You young fool," growled Shaley, as he beat a final retreat. "You'll be sorry some day. Nat Shaley ain't a good enemy to have, an' don't you fergit it."

CHAPTER VII

A HAZARDOUS LANDING

During the days directly following Dave Boyd's departure for the North, news came in daily regarding the Greenland expedition and its whereabouts.

Dave Boyd and his co-pilots had met with favorable weather; they had made even better progress than they had anticipated. So far, so good.

Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury kept in close touch with the progress of the Flying Cloud. Though neither of them had fully recovered from the disappointment of not having been included in the party, they nevertheless drew a vicarious excitement from the story of the doings of Dave Boyd and his distinguished company.

They flew daily, not only because they loved it, but to keep in practice and to test occasional new devices that were constantly coming up for trial in aviation.

"If we get smashed up," said Jerry jokingly, as they were taking a spin one day over the country surrounding North Elmwood, "Dave Boyd will be sorry that he didn't take us along. Two of his most enterprising young aviators gone to waste!"

"You must think we're going to land in the ash heap," laughed Slim.

"That's the chance we're taking every day," said Jerry.

They had made a wide circuit and were returning to the North Elmwood field when, looking down, they saw some of the mechanics and pilots looking up at them and gesticulating wildly.

"What's all the shooting about, I wonder?" asked Jerry in some surprise.

"Search me," replied Slim. "They seem to be urging us not to come down. Don't you see that they're pointing to the sky?"

"I'm not an expert at the sign language," said Jerry. "Why shouldn't we go down? No cops waiting to nab us, I hope."

"I don't know," replied Slim, his bewilderment increasing. "All the same they have some reason. What's Cusack doing there with that big paint brush?"

"Spilling a lot of paint, anyhow," observed Jerry. "Marking down a lot of big letters. Henry's all stirred up about something. And there's Tom Ellsworth running toward his plane. What in thunder is up?"

They saw Tom jump into the cockpit, while Cusack handed to him a bespattered sheet of canvas. Tom gave her the gun and shot up into the air until he was nearly abreast of Slim's plane.

He held out the canvas strip, on which Cusack had painted in sprawling letters:

YOUR LEFT WHEEL IS GONE

Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury started as though from an electric shock. For the message spoke of terrible danger.

They would have to land on one wheel, and that was a thing that could not be accomplished one time in twenty without a crack-up! Even Dave Boyd himself would have had hard work to do it.

Slim Tyler felt all the blood leave his face. Then he gritted his teeth and set himself to his task.

There was no more gesticulating from the field. The men below stood in anxious silence. They knew that Slim Tyler had read and understood the message. Now it was up to him. No one could help him but himself.

"Think you can make it, Slim?" asked Jerry soberly.

"Can tell better when we hit," returned Slim grimly. "But I'm going to do an awful lot of trying."

He figured that they would hit the ground at the rate of about thirty miles an hour. Then they would have to run along for several hundred feet on that one wheel.

If the wheel were only in the center of the plane, it would be fairly easy to maintain an even keel. But it was on one side, and the tendency of the plane would be to turn over on the unsupported side. That would mean that the wing would strike the ground on that side and the whole thing would crumple up, while the occupants would probably be maimed or killed in the crash.

"Throw everything in the plane that you can move over to the right side, and keep yourself over there too," directed Slim. "We've got to get all the weight there we can."

Jerry did as directed, and Slim, moving in great, sweeping spirals, drew gradually nearer to the ground.

Down, down, he went, seeming to do scarcely more than float.

Down still lower, until the one wheel touched the ground. It dipped a trifle toward the unsupported side, and a groan went up from the anxious spectators.

With a lightning turn of the wrist, Slim Tyler righted her, at the same time throwing the weight of his own body as far as he could to the right. By the most delicate manipulation and balancing, he kept the plane upright on the one wheel until the momentum of the run had spent its force.

The plane came to rest quiveringly, and only then yielded to the force of gravitation and sank gently over on the left wing, so gently that it would not have broken a pane of glass.

A roar of relief and delight went up from the watchers and a rush was made for the plane. Slim Tyler, drenched with perspiration from the awful strain of that struggle, was pulled from the plane and pounded and mauled by his enthusiastic friends until he begged for mercy.

"Gee, that was a wonderful landing!" exclaimed Henry Cusack. "I've been on this landin' field for years and never seen anything like it. Shouldn't wonder if Dave Boyd was right when he said that you were the greatest flyer for your age in the world."

"Great work, Slim!" declared Tom Ellsworth. "I thought you were in for a crack-up, sure. I wouldn't have given a plugged nickel for your chances."

"Such judgment! Such balancing! Such stick work!" applauded Jerry Marbury. "Slim, I take off my hat to you. I was already figuring up whether I had money enough to pay for my funeral expenses."

"Just sheer luck," returned Slim Tyler modestly. "But you bet that the next time I go up, particular attention will be given to the wheels. A few experiences like this would give me gray hairs."

He was leaving the grounds half an hour later when he was accosted by one of the mechanics.

"A couple of letters over at the office for you, Slim," he said. "Better get them before the old stick-in-the-mud in charge there tries to read them through the envelopes."

Slim thanked the young fellow and made straight for the office.

He was looking eagerly for mail these days. Since the notebook containing the entries by High Hat Frank had fallen into his hands, he had written to several places concerning Hugh Garrabrant and Cameron Flood, but so far had received no word in return.

He was exceedingly anxious to hear from one or both of them, for he was hotly embarked now on Nat Shaley's trail and hoped the miser's other victims could aid him in his search for facts.

He waited with scarcely concealed impatience for Anthony Litwell, the gossipy clerk in charge of the affairs of Boyd's office, to sort over the mail and find his letters for him.

He got them at last. One was postmarked from a city in California, where he had written for news of Garrabrant. The other was from a town in Ohio, where he had hoped to obtain information concerning Cameron Flood.

Back of the hot dog stand where some time before he had perused the greasy, thumbed notebook of High Hat Frank, Slim Tyler opened one of his two letters.

This was from the Garrabrants' lawyer and proved a distinct disappointment.

Hugh Garrabrant was dead and had left no heirs as far as could be ascertained. He had left, however, a claim against the Mt. Sunwa Lumber Company which had operated in Oregon and was, Slim felt sure, the one with which Nat Shaley had been connected.

The fact that Garrabrant was no longer living was a sharp setback to Slim's hopes in that quarter. To get into touch with Hugh Garrabrant himself, that was what he wanted, not a talk with a lawyer or an unsatisfactory delving into long past facts.

He put the letter back into its envelope and shoved it into his pocket.

"One lead gone," he said to himself. "Now I'll see what news the other letter gives me. If Cameron Flood is dead, too, I might just as well give up the investigation."

Almost in the first sentence of the letter he was informed that Cameron Flood was indeed dead. However, he had left a son, Cameron Flood, Jr., who would, the lawyer surmised, be glad to meet Mr. Tyler and discuss this matter of mutual interest.

"This is better," crowed Slim. "Now I'm getting somewhere!"

He read on for a paragraph or two and his jubilant expression died.

"Now what do you know about that?" he muttered. "Isn't that just rotten luck?"

The news that had caused Slim's swift change of expression was to the effect that although Cameron Flood, Jr., was alive, he was unfortunately no longer in his home town, but had left the city for upper Canada, where he was about to join an exploring expedition by airplane.

The expedition, the writer went on to explain, was bound for Greenland.

"Can you beat that?" muttered Slim. "He must be one of those two scientists slated to join Dave Boyd in Canada."

Now his disappointment at not being a member of the party was redoubled.

"What a talk Flood and I would have had!" mourned Slim. "We'd have had plenty of time to compare notes and map out a plan of campaign. I sure am the original hard luck kid!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE MISSING AVIATORS

Slim Tyler smothered the bitterness at his heart as well as he could and continued his reading of the letter.

Cameron Flood, Jr., the lawyer went on to explain, had inherited a claim for a large amount against the Mt. Sunwa Lumber Company and a certain Nathaniel Shaley, who seemed to have been the leading figure in the concern.

There had been some grave irregularity and probably actual crime attending the winding up of the company, the writer stated. In fact, Cameron Flood, Senior, had been about to take up the cudgels in a contest that would undoubtedly have had sensational features when death put an end to his activities.

"All very interesting, but not much use to me, now that I won't be able to get in touch with the younger Flood for many months to come," sighed Slim. "Talk about getting the hot end of the poker! I've got nothing else but."

Depression was a frequent guest of Slim Tyler in the days that followed. From the papers he learned that two scientists, one of them Flood, had joined the expedition in upper Canada.

There the Flying Cloud had laid up for a couple of days for refueling and supplies.

Then came the news that Dave Boyd and his party had left Canada and embarked on the last and most perilous lap of the journey to the uncharted wastes of Greenland.

Up to that time good weather had been the rule. But now the public, eagerly following the course of the flight by means of the newspapers and radio, learned that the plane was meeting with inclement flying conditions.

Snow and hail and terrible winds prevailed in the regions of the air through which the Flying Cloud was painfully forcing its way.

Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury devouring every scrap of information they could get, agonized together over the possible fate of the flyers.

"Under such weather conditions it's wonderful that the plane could have stayed in the air so long," observed Jerry.

"No one but Dave Boyd could have managed it," said Slim loyally.

Jerry shook his head dubiously.

"Even Dave Boyd can't keep aloft much longer with such odds against him. A forced landing among the ice-coated mountains of Greenland—" he did not finish the sentence, but in his eyes was the premonition of disaster.

A day later a screaming headline in the press informed the public that what it had been dreading had probably occurred.

No word had been received from the Boyd plane for eighteen hours!

This fact, coupled with the increased severity of the weather conditions in the region where the plane had last been heard of, gave rise to the most dire prophecies. In all probability, it was generally thought, the plane had been forced down among the mountain gorges of the desolate land, in which event the situation of the members of the expedition was, to say the least, of the utmost gravity.

With the paper in his hand that gave the disheartening report, Slim Tyler dashed into Jerry's room.

"Look here, old boy!" he exclaimed. "This is rotten news."

"Couldn't be much worse," agreed Jerry gloomily.

He also had been studying the paper.

"Of course the papers may be all wrong," went on Slim, with a desperate effort at optimism. "Because no news has come from the Flying Cloud for many hours, they've jumped at conclusions. It may be only that something has gone wrong with the radio."

Jerry looked at his chum curiously.

"I guess you should have read on a little farther, Slim. It says here that two trappers report that they saw a giant plane flying over Greenland, that she seemed to be in distress and was trying to make a landing among the mountains. Didn't you see that?"

Slim shook his head.

"It isn't in my paper. Let me see yours."

The story of the Greenland trappers added to the anxiety that had taken possession of Slim Tyler as to the fate of the man whom he cared for most in all the world.

He put down the paper and looked at Jerry.

"When Dave Boyd took me up," he said, "I was nothing but a poor homeless kid, battered about from pillar to post, with hardly a cent to my name and no future to boast about. Dave Boyd gave me a chance to make something of myself."

"You've more than justified the faith he put in you," returned Jerry.

"That doesn't change the fact that I owe everything to him," Slim persisted. "I tell you, Jerry, if we don't get good news of the plane within the next few days, I'm going after him."

Jerry grinned and thrust out his hand.

"Take me with you, kid?"

"You bet," replied Slim, and they shook hands on it.

Days passed with no news whatever of Dave Boyd and his expedition. The worst was feared and there was much talk about sending out searching planes for the missing flyers.

Then Slim Tyler leaped to the front. He came out boldly with the announcement that he and Jerry Marbury were anxious to go in search of the Flying Cloud and its occupants, and asked for a plane and funds to finance the relief expedition.

The response was immediate, and it astonished Slim by its enthusiasm. Nothing could demonstrate better the position Dave Boyd held in the hearts of his countrymen than the promptness with which funds began to pour in from all parts of the nation.

Money was collected by newspapers in the great cities. A plane of the newest type and possessing all the latest mechanical improvements was presented to Slim by one of the largest plane manufacturers in the country.

Slim Tyler himself flew the plane from the Mid-Western manufacturing town to North Elmwood.

He landed amid a heavy downpour of rain, which, however, did not deter a large crowd from assembling to greet him. They pressed close about the beautiful plane and the daring pilot who was about to undertake such a perilous adventure.

Jerry Marbury shoved his way through to Slim's side. His eyes were shining.

"She's a peach, boy! What are we going to name her?"

"The Hope," said Slim.

He regarded Jerry steadily and the two young men gripped hands.

"We've got a new recruit," stated Jerry, as, after the plane had been put in its hangar, they started across the field together. "He wants to go on the relief flight with us. I like him and I think you will, too. Suppose you take a squint at him."

"Sure," agreed Slim. "Where is he?"

"Over at Leslie's boarding house. He has taken a room there. He says whether he goes with us or not, he's bound to see the start of the expedition. He's a nice chap, and I think he may make himself useful to us."

At the door of the boarding house they ran into Dick Mylert, the young man in question, who was just coming out.

"Hello!" the latter exclaimed, staring. "Slim Tyler, isn't it? Just the man I want to see."

"Ditto," said Slim smilingly.

"Two souls with but a single thought," grinned Mylert cheerfully. "We ought to get along famously together. Come right in," and he led the way into the sitting room.

"Not beautiful," he said, with a glance around the plainly furnished room, "but clean and comfortable. The hotel was crowded and I had to put up here. Anyway, the landlady serves real butter with meals."

"That's a help," remarked Slim.

"You tell 'em. Now to get down to brass tacks. Do I get a chance to go along with you and Mr. Marbury here on your relief expedition to Greenland?"

"Shouldn't wonder," returned Slim, who had taken an immediate liking to the breezy young fellow. "If you'll just tell me——"

"Sure. You want to know my qualifications for the job. To start with, I'm a newspaper reporter on—" He named the great New York paper that had been chiefly instrumental in raising the funds for the expedition. "I'm white, unmarried, twenty-eight, and have never been convicted of a crime, although traffic cops have sometimes spoken harshly to me."

Following this unconventional self-introduction, Mylert became a bit more serious and gave Slim and Jerry a brief but comprehensive description of his activities up to date. The more he talked, the more Slim liked him.

It appeared that he had had a most varied experience. He had traveled over a great part of the world, sometimes as a sailor before the mast, at others as assistant navigator; had been with a scientific expedition as a geographer; and was conversant with a number of languages. He had even tried flying for a while before settling on a newspaper career.

"So you see I'm qualified in more ways than one to be of use to you on your expedition," the young man remarked. "By the way, I have papers here to prove my statements—if you need any other proof than my open and ingenuous countenance," he ended with a grin.

As a matter of form, Slim looked over the credentials that Mylert handed him. Then he turned them over to Jerry.

"Your open and ingenuous countenance is a good reference," laughed Slim. "But these others seem to be all right, and as far as I am concerned clinch the matter. What do you say, Jerry?"

"It's all right with me," said Jerry heartily. "If it's O.K. with you, Slim, Mr. Mylert will be the third member of the party without any further argument."

"O.K. with me," assented Slim.

The three young men shook hands gravely. Dick Mylert beamed gratification.

"I've always had a terrific admiration for Dave Boyd," he confessed. "When you boys started plans for this relief expedition I had a yearning to go that I couldn't resist. Glad you fellows like me, for I've certainly taken a shine to you."

This important detail settled, preparations for the flight went on with great rapidity. The young aviators kept hoping that every day would bring them news of Boyd's safety and make their trip unnecessary.

But nothing of the kind occurred. Not a signal came from the Arctic wastes to tell that the intrepid adventurers lived.

Slim and Jerry worked day and night with a force of helpers, and in an incredibly short space of time the Hope was ready for her flight.

"To-morrow," said Slim, two nights later, "we make our start."

"The weather prophecies from Washington are good," observed Jerry. "That doesn't hurt any."

"It isn't the weather here that bothers me much," replied Slim. "It's what we may run into farther north."

The next day justified the optimistic weather prophecies. The sky was a uniform bright blue. There was no suggestion of fog or threatened storm.

The three members of the relief expedition were in a mood of hope to match the name of the plane. They were eager to be off, and grudged the time that was taken up by the persistent reporters and photographers, all anxious to get stories and pictures for their papers.

There was a confused sound of altercation on the edge of the crowd. Slim Tyler heard a familiar voice.

"I toldt you I got somedings for him alretty. Gif me der room to get dere vonst."

Slim chuckled and faced about as Carl Stummel shoved his way through the crowd.

"Blenty hot togs, alretty," panted Carl, as he handed Slim a large paper bundle. "Cooked shoost der vay you like dem, mit blenty oof mustard. Vere you're going you might maybe haf a hardt dime getting sooch goot vuns, yes?"

"There aren't such good ones anywhere," declared Slim, as he accepted the gift. "Your mustard is hot enough to keep us warm even in Greenland."

"If dey last dot long, den I am a bum cook, alretty," replied Carl. "I betcher dey vill be et before dis night koomt. Goot luck, Shlim! Und bring back dot Dave Boydt."

CHAPTER IX

ON THE WING

As the flyers climbed aboard the plane, a spontaneous cheer arose from the crowd that increased steadily until it swelled into a roar.

Slim Tyler took his place at the controls. A mechanic twirled the propeller, the motors sang, and the Hope moved forward, gathering speed as it swept down the long runway.

At two hundred yards it lifted easily, despite the heavy weight it carried, and soared into the air like a bird.

Again arose the thunderous cheering. Hundreds of handkerchiefs fluttered and hats were thrown into the air.

The Hope circled once around the field, and then Slim Tyler laid her nose toward the north.

Soon she had passed from the gaze of the multitude, fairly embarked on her long and perilous journey.

At the controls, Slim exulted.

"Flies like a dream!" he exclaimed. "Just listen to those motors! Ever hear sweeter music? And see the way she responds to the least touch of the stick."

For the first few hours the weather was perfect, and the Hope ate up space at the rate of a hundred and twenty miles an hour.

Then a haze began gradually to gather and presently shut out the sight of the land below. Before long it thickened into a fog that grew ever denser and denser, until the young pilot was reduced to flying entirely by his instruments.

Dick Mylert, who proved, together with his reputation as a mascot, to be blessed with an excellent appetite, remembered the hot dogs donated by Carl Stummel and suggested that they try them.

Nothing had ever tasted better than those frankfurters. Carl had been generous, but the sandwiches disappeared before the husky appetites of the three young men like magic.

The wind began to rise in fierce gusts that grew ever stronger, and the Hope was soon flying in the teeth of half a gale.

"Guess I'll edge off a little to the west and try for altitude," remarked Slim.

"My sentiments exactly," agreed Jerry. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

"Maybe I read your mind."

Slim Tyler pulled the stick and the Hope shot upward for a couple of thousand feet. There a quieter strata of air was found and the plane made rapid progress.

But if the Hope had escaped the gale, she had not succeeded in freeing herself from the all-enveloping mist.

A roar came from in front.

"Another plane!" cried Jerry, his eyes straining through the darkness. "And it's coming straight toward us!"

Probably the pilot of the approaching plane sensed the presence of the Hope at the same moment that Slim Tyler and his companions became aware of their own peril. For in that mist-enshrouded vastness of space began a weird duel, such as the young aviators could never afterward recall without a thrill of horror.

When Slim turned the nose of his plane upward in an attempt to gain altitude swiftly and so avoid a collision, the pilot of the other plane did likewise.

When the Hope swooped downward like a swallow, it was evident from the sound that the other plane had also resorted to the same maneuver.

The ghost ship was not yet visible through the enshrouding mist, but Slim Tyler knew that at any second it would tear the veil asunder and charge down on them, a Juggernaut of destruction.

Slim sat grim, determined, rigid as a creation of steel, ready with a lightning movement to send the plane to right or left, up or down, as the emergency might demand.

Like some fabulous monster of prehistoric times, the rival plane loomed up in the fog.

Slim dropped the Hope like a plummet, turning sharply to the right.

With a wild throb of engines the ghostly ship swept by overhead, missing the Hope by the smallest possible margin.

Slim Tyler's breath whistled through his teeth.

"Gee, that was close!" he muttered. "A few inches less, and there would have been no one left to tell the story."

"Great shift that was of yours, Slim!" exclaimed Jerry. "You could run rings around lightning."

"Do you usually act as quickly as that?" asked Dick Mylert, looking at Slim with an admiration he took no pains to conceal.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Slim, a trifle embarrassed. "In this business you've got to be quick or be dead."

"I wish Dave Boyd could have seen that," remarked Jerry. "He'd have been more than ever proud of his pupil."

As though fate had played its last card and was a bit discouraged, the fog began to lift. Slowly, at first, it shredded away. The earth came into view, the sky became visible, and the young aviators felt as though they had been released from prison, no less a prison because the walls were soft and insubstantial.

One thing that had pleased the young pilot in the episode of the threatened collision had been the nerve displayed by Dick Mylert. In those few awful moments when he knew that death might claim him at any moment he had not blenched nor made a sound. He was game, Slim decided.

They had crossed the United States border now and were flying over Canada. The air was getting cooler, cold in fact, and the growing change from the temperature toward the frigid zone was met by the young aviators by a consistent increase in articles of wearing apparel.

With every hundred miles they flew farther north, the air grew keener, but no sign of trouble came until Dick Mylert found a snowflake on his hand.

"Snowing," murmured Jerry dubiously. "You know what that means in this part of the country. It may be that before long we'll run head on into a blizzard."

"One little snowflake doesn't make a winter," Dick reminded him. "Wait for a while and see. It may be only a flurry."

Some hours later they found themselves in the midst of a furious snowstorm, which enabled Jerry to say with the condescension of a successful prophet:

"Here's your flurry, Dick. How do you like it?"

"Less abundant, thank you," returned the young journalist unabashed. "Still, it started with a flurry. You have to admit that."

The snow fell heavily, hemming them in. It seemed to form an almost solid white wall, against which the Hope drove endlessly. The wall gave way, only to close up again, pressing more relentlessly.

The Hope gradually became covered with the clinging white stuff. It weighted the wings, the tail, and the body of the fuselage.

The wings lost buoyancy. The engines began to labor. The plane was no longer a joy to handle. She became heavy, clumsy, responding sluggishly to the hand at the controls.

"I'll let her down," observed Slim, "though we may have to come dangerously near the tops of the trees before we can see the ground."

With the increasing weight of snow on the wings it became absolutely necessary that a landing should be sought. If the aviators did not go down of their own accord, they would be forced down.

Slim Tyler chose the lesser of the two evils.

He flew down gradually in long, sweeping spirals, while Jerry and Dick kept field glasses glued to their eyes.

"Tree tops beneath!" cried Jerry. "'Ware!"

Slim pulled the stick and cleared the threatened peril.

It seemed an almost interminable time before they found a place that could by the remotest possibility answer their purpose.

The district was for the most part heavily wooded. On the rare occasions when clearings presented themselves, they were dotted so thickly with hummocks, underbrush, and the half-rotted stumps of trees that landing was out of the question.

At last Dick Mylert cried out jubilantly:

"There it is, right below us! The very thing we've been looking for! Some sort of frozen lake, I should say at a guess."

"If it's a lake, let's hope that it isn't deep or that the ice is frozen clear through," muttered Slim Tyler. "Else we're headed for a ducking."

CHAPTER X

THE HOWL OF THE WOLF

The lake was small and it was closely surrounded by a ring of guardian trees. In that limited space it would take first class airmanship to make a safe landing.

Slim Tyler encircled the clearing several times, checking the speed of the plane and judging the distance by his eyes.

Then he made up his mind, shifted the controls, and the plane swept downward, the wheels crunching in the snow to the heavy ice beneath.

The Hope teetered uncertainly for a moment, righted, and swept on toward the trees on the bank.

For a flashing fraction of a second it seemed that she would rush into the trees and be wrecked. But once more Dave Boyd's faith in his pupil was justified.

With consummate skill Slim Tyler swung the plane around and sped about the lake in a circle, until the momentum lessened and the tired bird came finally to rest.

The young aviators climbed stiffly from the plane, slapping their numbed hands together to restore the circulation. They pounded their feet on the ice, only now beginning to realize how bitterly cold they were.

"A fire would feel mighty good," said Jerry Marbury, brushing the snow from his eyes. "My ears feel frostbitten."

"Same here," echoed Dick. "I'm all for Jerry's suggestion."

"Suits me," agreed Slim. "Only if we have to camp here all night, which seems very likely, it might be a good idea to find a more sheltered place to build our fire."

They tramped off into the surrounding woods, hoping to find a cave or overhanging rocks that would serve as partial shelter from the severity of the storm.

But something better than that was in store for them. They had not gone far before they discovered a tumbledown shack that had probably been occupied at some time by a trapper or a party of trappers.

It was dilapidated enough, in all conscience, but to the cold and weary travelers a palace could scarcely have provided a more attractive sight. It meant at least shelter from the snow and a barrier against the wind.

The hut had a roof, though there were gaping holes in it. The one window had been boarded up. The door hung loosely on its rusted hinges.

"Guess we won't have to knock," observed Slim lightly, as he placed his hand on the knob of the door. "Looks as though there had been nobody at home here for a long, long time."

The door yielded easily.

The young men crowded in, stamping the snow from their boots, and looked around them.

They found that the cabin consisted of one fair-sized room, with a lean-to adjoining; a typical trappers' abode.

Bunks stretched along two sides of the room; beneath the boarded window on the third side was a rough table of logs with a pine top; on the fourth side was a fireplace which looked as though it had been in disuse for a long time and a couple of rude chairs.

The fireplace, in the estimation of the young adventurers, was by far the most important object in the place.

"Now if we can only find some dry wood," observed Dick, "everything will be great."

He pushed open the door at the farther end of the cabin and disclosed a well-stocked lean-to. One end of it was packed almost to the roof with log blocks and smaller pieces of wood.

There were two shelves, upon which were some unopened packages of canned goods.

"Looks as though we'd neither starve nor freeze while we're here," exulted Jerry.

He fell upon the wood, scooping up an armful and carried it into the main room.

His companions followed his example, and it was not long before a comforting fire roared in the fireplace.

"I'll be chef, fellows," said Slim, as he went to the lean-to door. "Come and name your poison."

They decided upon beans and tinned corn beef. The beans they warmed over the fire and ate out of the can. The beef they picked up with their fingers and ate with relish, smacking their lips over the impromptu meal.

The storm was now much less severe than it had been when they first stumbled upon the cabin. The snow had almost stopped, and the heavy clouds in the east had lifted perceptibly.

"I was afraid the Hope might be snowed under," Slim remarked. "I guess there's no danger of that now."

They walked back to the lake and found the plane as they had left it, except that the coating of ice and snow on the wings was heavier. They scraped this off and covered the wings with tarpaulins.

They debated starting again at once, but more prudent counsel prevailed. The night had now fully come.

"Bad enough to take off from here in full daylight, let alone at night," judged the young leader of the expedition. "We'll start off at the first streak of dawn if conditions permit."

Slim Tyler came to this decision with the utmost reluctance, for he was consumed with anxiety to reach his destination at the earliest possible moment. But this was a case where caution promised decidedly better results than precipitate courage.

"Better take our guns with us," Slim counseled, as he reached into the plane and drew out his own rifle. "Little likelihood that we'll have to use them, but they're handy things to have."

His companions also secured their weapons, and the little party retraced its steps to the cabin.

The night would have been one of Egyptian darkness had it not been for the faint glimmer of the snow, for the clouds effectively barred the rays of moon or stars.

The forest seemed suddenly a dangerous and menacing place. Behind the trees that stood like gaunt sentinels above the snow, any furtive thing might lurk. There was something sinister and repellent in their very silence.

Once Slim Tyler stopped short and stared at a clump of bushes.

"What's wrong?" asked Jerry.

"There was something behind those bushes. I distinctly saw it move," declared Slim.

Seeing that Dick and Jerry were inclined to scoff, Slim did not insist. In his own mind, however, he was convinced that he had not been mistaken. His eyes had always been reliable, and he saw no reason to doubt them now.

When Dick Mylert paused before the door of the cabin to examine some freshly made tracks in the snow, Slim was not surprised.

"Dog tracks!" cried the young newspaperman.

"Timber wolves!" corrected Slim.

At those ominous words Jerry came up to Slim and Dick, and also bent to examine the tracks in the snow. He gave a long whistle as he straightened up and glanced uneasily about him.

"By Jove, Slim!" he cried, "I believe you're right. Timber wolves, and savage, I'll be bound! This snow has made it hard for them to find game. Probably regard us as a godsend."

"Lucky we brought our firearms along," observed Slim. "We'll be safe enough inside the cabin with the door barricaded."

The interior of the cabin in the flickering of the firelight offered a cheering contrast to the dark and menacing forest that surrounded it.

The young men fitted the rather unstable door into place and dropped the wooden bar that served as bolt. Then they moved the heavy table against the door as an additional barrier.

"That door as a door may not be worth much," commented Dick, "but it would take a life-sized pack of wolves to shove that table away."

"The roof isn't much as a roof, either," added Slim. "But I guess, if it can hold all that weight of snow, it will stand a few extra pounds of wolf, if they should try to get in that way."

"They can't come down the chimney as long as we keep a fire going, and the window is already boarded up," Jerry comforted himself. "All we have to do now is to sit down and wait for the show to commence."

To sit and wait, however, was a more nerve-racking business than they had anticipated. As the darkness settled down more thickly over the forest, the intense silence about the cabin became oppressive. Now and then the sharp crackling of a frost-snapped twig or a slide of snow from the roof would cause them to start involuntarily and then exchange apologetic glances.

"If we could strike a light, it would be a little more cheerful," remarked Jerry.

A lantern depended from a hook on the wall, but upon examination they found that this was innocent of oil.

They searched the lean-to for kerosene and failed to find any, though they did come across two fat tallow candles.

They lighted these, using the drip to fasten them to the rough top of the table.

The light was faint and flickering and seemed to accentuate the shadows in the corners of the room. No one cared to mention the fact, however, for fear of betraying his own restlessness.

"I only hope Dave Boyd to-night is as warm and sheltered as we are," remarked Slim, from whom the thought of his benefactor was seldom absent.

"I suppose there are plenty of poor fellows out in the Arctic night that would give their souls for a fire and a meal of hot food," conjectured Dick. He paused, hand raised.

"What's that?" he cried.

From the depths of the forest came the blood-curdling howl of a wolf!

From a distance the cry of the wolf was answered, now from one direction, then from another.

"The pack is gathering," remarked Jerry Marbury grimly. "Well, let 'em come. We're ready for them."

CHAPTER XI

THE PACK CLOSES IN

The isolated howls of the distant wolves soon swelled into a chorus. The beasts were assembling for the kill.

The noise came nearer, growing more vibrant and eager as it approached the men the wolves had marked for their prey.

But the anticipated victims had other ideas. During the time of waiting they had carefully examined their weapons and made sure that they had an abundant supply of cartridges on hand.

They sat there, intent and determined, fully aware of the danger that was coming on apace and yet with their hearts aflame with high courage.

They had no definite plan of campaign. They could not have. They would have to meet every emergency as it arose.

Then the howls ceased abruptly. In their stead could be heard the rustling made by bodies thrusting themselves through the brushwood, the scufflings of padded feet in the snow. The enemy was massing for the attack.

A long-drawn savage howl just beneath the boarded-up window brought those within the cabin to their feet. At the same moment a heavy body flung itself at the cabin door.

The boards of the door bent inward under the shock, but the heavy table shoved against it prevented them from breaking.

"That was the first gun on their side," remarked Slim Tyler. "Well, here's the first gun on ours."

He fired through the door at a height of about a foot above the floor.

But the yelp that would have told that the brute was struck did not come. The shot had not found a target. Nor had it seemed to intimidate the aviators' assailants, for a moment later not one, but three of the beasts, as though by a preconcerted signal, hurled themselves against the door with a force that made the cabin tremble.

This time one of the planks was splintered, and a wolf thrust his nose in the gap tearing with his claws to enlarge the opening.

Jerry's gun and Dick's spoke at the same instant, and this time a howl of pain told that one or both of the shots had struck. The wolf fell back and a hideous hubbub ensued.

"My wolf," cried Dick, with a grin. "I saw him first."

"You may claim him," replied Jerry. "The main thing is that he's put out of commission."

"He may be only wounded," surmised Slim.

"Then he's as good as dead," declared Dick. "Wolves don't take their crippled companions to a hospital. Listen!"

There was a frightful snarling as the wolves tore their unfortunate companion to pieces.

"That gives us at least a breathing spell," murmured Jerry.

"Not for long," warned Slim. "There'll be nothing of that wolf left in ten minutes but the bones, and the taste of blood will make the pack ravenous for more."

Slim Tyler's prediction proved correct, for the onslaught was soon renewed. This time the boarded window was the target for attack.

Time after time the brutes dashed their heavy bodies against it, and as often as they did so the besieged fired their rifles. But they had to do this by guesswork, and several rounds were fired without any evidence of damage.

"We're wasting ammunition going it blind this way," cried Slim in disgust. "We've got to do now what we ought to have done before and cut loopholes in the sides of the walls. Then we'll have a fair target when we shoot. I'll stand guard while you fellows—Ah, you will, will you?"

The exclamation was caused by the sight of a wolf which threw itself with such force against the hole in the door where his companion had met its fate that not only his head, but his shoulders and front paws protruded into the room.

Almost as he spoke Slim Tyler fired, and the bullet penetrated the animal's brain.

A howl came from the slavering jaws and the head slumped forward.

"That makes two less to worry about!" exclaimed Slim.

"Good work!" commended Jerry. "Don't do that, Dick," he cried, as Mylert made a motion to kick the dead body through the opening. "Let it stay there to plug up the hole. It'll be all the harder for the next one to force its way in."

"The fellows outside will drag the body out, anyway," replied Dick.

"Perhaps they won't know he's dead," conjectured Jerry.

"Trust them," said Dick. "They know a death howl when they hear it. Look, they're at it now!"

There was a fierce tugging at the animal's body, and in a trice it was drawn from the opening and the cannibal feast was renewed.

The pulling and tearing had still more enlarged the opening, and the young aviators viewed it with dismay.

"That last one got halfway through," observed Slim. "The next one may make the whole distance. If he does, he'll be followed by others. A few of them rampaging around inside would give us a tough job."

"And we haven't a thing to bar the hole with!" exclaimed Jerry, as his eyes ranged swiftly around the room.

"I have it!" cried Slim, as he rushed to the fireplace and pulled out a blazing brand. "They're as afraid as death of fire. Let's see how this works."

He hurled the burning torch through the opening.

There was a chorus of frightened snarls as the beasts scurried from the vicinity of the door, abandoning their bloody feast with reluctance, but abandoning it nevertheless.

"Got 'em all right," chuckled Slim. "They don't like it for a cent. We'll give them some more of the same kind. We'll keep the home fires burning, and not one of them will cross the blaze to get at the hole."

They hurriedly threw out some more of the burning logs until there was quite a bonfire in front of the door.

"Lucky we have plenty of wood in the lean-to," exulted Dick, as he hurried to get a fresh supply with which to replenish the fire. "We can keep this up all night, if we have to."

"It will serve a double purpose," put in Jerry. "It will light up the place outside so that we can see what we're aiming at."

"Yes, if they'll only stay in front," replied Dick dubiously. "But they'll soon sense that there's nothing doing in that quarter, and they'll try us on the other three sides."

"All the more reason why we should hurry up with those loopholes," suggested Slim. "Let's hustle now, fellows, so that we can see what's doing on every side of the cabin."

They laid aside their guns for the moment and dug away with their knives with feverish energy until they had made apertures large enough to thrust rifle barrels through and turn them in any desired direction.

During all the time they were working, there had come no sound from without. The lonely forest seemed wholly untenanted.

"Think they've had enough of our game and drawn off?" asked Jerry, the wish father to the hope.

"Not by a jugful!" affirmed Dick. "A couple of dead ones make no difference to them. Judging from the snarling, there must have been twenty at the least. They won't give up as easily as that. Just now they're planning what to do next."

If this were so, there must have been a confusion of counsels, for the silence continued for a long time.

The besieged scanned the space without from every side, but no slinking figures stood out against the background of the snow, no green eyes gleamed from the shadows of the forest.

The tense waiting wore on the besieged ones' nerves.

"Hanged if I don't believe that Jerry was right after all!" conceded Dick Mylert, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, for the fierce fire they were obliged to keep up made the cabin abominably warm. "Looks as if the brutes—Look out, fellows! Look out!" he shouted, as he leaped for his gun.

He aimed it at an open place in the roof and fired.

In Mylert's excitement the shot went wild, and the next instant a great gray body came hurtling through the air and struck the floor with a thud.

Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury had grabbed their guns at their companion's shout but had had no time to aim.

Like lightning, the wolf sprang at Jerry's throat!